


Resurrection

by Annejackdanny



Series: Resurrection [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Adventure, Angst, Kid Fic, Little Daniel - Freeform, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1248649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annejackdanny/pseuds/Annejackdanny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel is struggling to find his place in the universe after his ascension. He needs to let go of his ties to the lower plane, including his friends and the man he loved. When SG-1 goes AWOL off world Daniel finds them being robbed of their memories and living new lives among the natives. When one of them is in great danger and time is running out he has to make a choice. But do his friends even want to remember and go back to their old lives? </p><p>Jack O'Neill is a guy with very few ambitions and he likes it that way. Life is kind of lazy and good. One night a small child appears on his doorstep and turns his life upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ties That Bind I

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: This is set during SG-1 season six some time after Abyss. There are spoilers for lots of episodes up to that point.
> 
> Warnings: Language, some m/m sexual content (kissing, naked skin, touching), angst
> 
> Author's Notes:  
> This story was inspired by a vacation to Turkey in 2012 where we visited the ruins of an ancient Roman theater and one of the tour guides had his little son with him who was riding on his shoulders as he toured the tourists around. Somehow the image stuck with me and out of it grew this story. So there is a vague resemblance with the places I visited in Turkey and there might be some Arabic and India related cultural influences – everything else is made up. 
> 
> It is now posted for the Kidfic Big Bang on DW/LJ 'kidficstories'
> 
> I have taken the liberty of changing certain known facts for the benefit of this story. If you are someone who is experienced in pottery throwing, glazing and firing, please know that I'm aware I simplified the whole process and amount of time it takes to go from throwing to having the finished piece of pottery. I guess you could say that since this is off world clay, it works differently than ours. Heck, maybe even the chemical process of firing wood works differently – who knows? :) 
> 
> One more – I have done all the research about Tretonin there is and as far as I get it there is no real answer to its ingredients apart from symbiote poison/blood etc. Teal'c's well being depends (in this story) on an altered form of naquadah. I am not claiming any canon facts and I'm not claiming to have any scientific knowledge for Carter's research and process of creating my own version of Tretonin, so please do not look for any satisfying 'real' answers. 
> 
> Thank you!

There is a podcast for Resurrection, read and gifted to me for Christmas by my dear friend Tanis/iiiionly. You'll find the link to download Part I here:

[Resurrection Part I - Ties that Bind ](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/7i73j195e4fkhbt/AAAlOQlmwW_wajG0HPTEoKLaa?dl=0)

 

**Part I**

**Ties that Bind**

 

 _**I** _ _**t** _ _**was a sad but undeniable truth that he couldn't completely break away. Even with the universe as his oyster, ready for him to explore in ways he'd never thought possible. Even with everything he'd been offered he couldn't let go of the ties binding him to the lower plane and the people he considered his family.** _

_**Above all to the man he had wanted to leave behind the most. The man he had dreaded leaving the most.** _

  
**I**

Daniel could tell, by now, when the dreams started. Whether it was always the same dream or a merry-go-round of them he didn't know.

Jack slept on his side, his lean form relaxed and tranquil, hard lines gone from his face, his mouth slack and slightly open, long fingers loosely wrapped around the edge of the rough, woolen blanket or flat on the ground, cushioning the side of his face.

Jack didn't move much in his sleep.

Until the dreams started.

The first sign was his body tensing up; stiffening back, flexing of muscles, his fingers clutching the blanket in a deathly grip or trying to dig into the ground.

Then there was the tossing. From side to his back, then to the other side. Sometimes he'd bolt upright, eyes open but unseeing. Then he'd slump back to the ground, his head turning from left to right. Some nights there were words, harshly whispered, a snatch of breath, hard to grasp.

Jack was a light sleeper, always had been. He had probably learned to be awake in an instant during his time in Iraq. Or maybe it was something they learned in Special Ops. To sleep whenever and wherever they had to, but always alert, always fully awake whenever it was required.

He'd wake when a branch snapped in the bushes or when a stray cat was bold enough to enter his shelter and explore his neatly stacked belongings. He'd wake like he slept then; quietly and calmly. He'd lie still, only his eyes snapped open as he assessed the situation. If there was a cat, he'd hiss at it or throw a pebble. Then he'd slip back to sleep just as silently.

But he never woke during one of the dreams. He never remembered them either. Because if he did, wouldn't he question them? Wouldn't he try to figure out where they came from? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. This was Jack and Jack could be very ignorant if he chose to be.

Daniel reached out to Jack. He always tried. Even though he couldn't touch the other man, he sometimes managed to quiet him with a thought, an image or – perhaps - his mere presence. Not that he actually knew if Jack even sensed his presence.

He wasn't sure what triggered the dreams. Was Jack's mind trying to fight the memory stamp? Or were the dreams a side effect of the stamp? Either way, Jack had too many demons hidden in the shadows for Daniel to know which one was haunting him at nights. However, he had an idea, or three, about their origin.

The moon spilled his pale light over Jack's face that became haggard and haunted during the dreams, but was lax and peaceful again once he got past them.

Daniel 'looked' at the sky, his 'eyes' traveling the clusters of stars on a velvet background. He could feel the galaxy beyond those visible constellations, as it stretched out in the vast universe; just one of many, their edges sometimes overlapping; seamless transitions and yet clear structures. Well defined chaos of planets, asteroids, meteors, nebulas, stars... Novas silently exploding; stars dying and newborn... civilizations falling and rising.

He felt the pull of the universe beckoning him. Yet, he was anchored by the man on the ground next to him.

It was a sad but undeniable truth that he couldn't completely break away. Even with the universe as his oyster, ready for him to explore in ways he'd never thought possible. Even with everything he'd been offered he couldn't let go of the ties binding him to the lower plane and the people he considered his family.

Above all to the man he had wanted to leave behind the most. The man he had dreaded leaving the most.

 _Let it go_ , he thought. _It's spilled milk. Let it go._

He had spent time with all of them after he left, had watched them struggle to come to terms with one of them gone. He still felt guilty for making them suffer; each of them in their own way.

He hadn't expected the onslaught of their pain to affect him so much. Maybe he hadn't even expected their grief to be so... raw. So bottomless. Their emotions had come off them in waves and washed over and through him, piercing him like knives.

Acceptance on the surface, anger – directed at whoever or whatever - underneath. Tears and resentfulness paired with hope. Belief that the friend had chosen the path of a warrior's afterlife, mingled with sadness.

Daniel did not fear, nor hesitate, in his resolve to continue his new chosen path. But seeing his friends falling apart, building walls, shutting each other out, had kept him from severing the bonds completely. He had been hurting for them. He still was. Nothing he could do about it. He had found that leaving the lower planes behind did not include shaking off his pain like an unwanted piece of clothing. He had to learn to live with it.

Oma wasn't happy with him. There was nothing he could do about that either.

'One cannot walk the path of enlightenment while his roots remain in the soil.'

He felt her presence by his side, cool and soothing; a blanket made from light and age old wisdom. 'So you keep telling me.'

'Your choice was clear. It still is. Yet, you remain here.'

'It's kinda... complicated.'

'They no longer feel this pain. They have released their burdens in their own ways.'

'They were forced to live like this. Not knowing doesn't change the fact,' Daniel said fiercely. Well, he didn't actually 'say' it since actual words weren't necessary anymore. He could hear her anyway, loud and clear.

'It took away the reason for your lingering, did it not?' Oma hovered even closer now.

'They are not meant to be here. This isn't their life.'

'Perhaps they were sent here for a reason. Every choice we make has consequences, sometimes beyond our understanding. The meaning is often hidden to the mere eye,' Oma lectured thoughtfully. A tendril of light snaked over Jack's face and he turned away, on his side, huddling deeper under the blanket of lamb's wool.

Daniel moved beside her, the color of moonlight. 'Don't start with the candlelight and meals cooked a long time ago.'

'It is one of my favorite sayings.'

'No, really?' He felt like rolling his eyes.

She chuckled, a rustle of wind in the leaves of the bushes. Sometimes she was full of mischief. She liked talking in riddles only to watch others trying to make sense of it. At other times she was crystal clear; saying what she meant and meaning what she said. He was still trying to figure her out.

'They need to heal. You must not linger.'

'And you think they can heal this way. Forgetting everything they were, everything they did. Just like that.' Daniel's light ghosted over silver hair, way too long in the back. Unruly. Tamed by a strip of leather during the day.

Jack sighed, let out a puff of air, and rolled on his back again.

'They have endured much. You all have. It is not only your departure that has weighed on them. Not by far.'

'I know.' The list of failures and loses was endless. His leaving only added to a mountain of trash.

'Leave them be, Daniel,' Oma whispered. 'You cannot return to that path. Leave them to continue on theirs as you must continue on yours.'

'They need to go home,' Daniel insisted, feeling strongly about this. 'They'd never choose this if they were given a real choice.'

'It is not for you to interfere.' She ascended into the sky, hovering above him. 'Come. I have things to teach you. You must learn and grow.' A tendril of light linked with his and he was pulled away from the sleeping figure tucked under the blanket on the ground.

Reluctantly, he followed her lead, torn by the need to stay and the wish to go. He could still feel his roots in the soil as he trailed behind Oma to seek out new worlds.

*******

The clay pit wasn't far from the ruins, an hour of hiking tops. He walked along the edge, Thor following rather reluctantly, trying to stop here and there to mouth at tufts of grass. Jack tugged at the reins, dragging him away from the green and towards the slope into the pit.

The area around the pit was mostly sand, quartz pebbles and slate. Small ravines filled with raised ground- or rain water crossed the many pathways clay diggers had trodden into the soil.

Further down the loam was close to the surface. Diggers, wind and rain had formed a bizarre landscape of frayed outer edges, turrets of clay, plateaus and valleys. The colors varied from gray to brown with veins of red and purple.

He untied the two wooden buckets from Thor's bags and pulled the small shovel out from its pouch. “You stay here.”

Jack never bothered to hobble the mule when he came out here. The pit was steep and if the stupid beast decided to clamber into it the leg ties might cause him to stumble and fall. He and Thor had been together for a while now. Jack knew where to find him if he wandered off too far.

The shaggy, gray mule turned its head and blinked, his large black eyes giving nothing away. If anything he looked bored.

The buckets were tied together by a wide leather strap. Jack slung them over his shoulders and wedged the shovel under his left arm. “Just... stay in sight,” he muttered.

Thor turned his back on him and ambled over to one of the water holes.

Jack clamored into the deeper areas of the pit until he reached the nearest clay slick and started digging. The clay was just right down here; not too gritty, not too soft, and it came off easily in chunks. Jack worked fast and steady, fresh layers of dust and muck soon covering his hands, arms and legs. He had already been down here once this morning at dawn.

Now he had more than enough clay to work with for a while, and plenty to sell to Hadis. Tourist season was coming to an end so this was his last trip out here until next spring.

Hadis kept telling him to store larger stocks of clay and pottery. “You could dig a couple of weeks in the fall and work on your pottery over winter. That way you'd be all stocked during summer,” he said from time to time. “You could work double times on the beaches if you don't have to throw pottery during the season. Make more profit. Buy a house.”

Jack had no use for profit or a house.

He carried the heavy buckets back up the slope to where he'd left Thor. The mule was no where in sight. Circling his sore shoulders – digging up clay gave him all kinds of twinges and pains – Jack went over to the small water hole to clean his hands from the worst of the mess.

That done he put two fingers into his mouth and whistled; a shrill sound echoing through the deserted pit. Most diggers wouldn't show up until much later. They had other chores to do first, like tending to their families and houses, watering their fields or vegetable patches before it got too hot.

He whistled again and then watched as Thor took his own sweet time returning from the small patch of green Jack had dragged him away from earlier. He showed up at the edge of the pit, ears hanging to either side of the mulish head. It gave him a rather mopish expression.

“Some time today would be nice,” Jack prompted.

Thor shook his head and shuffled closer. Sometimes Jack thought the guy he'd bought the mule from last summer had duped him by selling him an old animal for a young one. At other times he was certain Thor's slow gait and sullen attitude was a scam to annoy him and an excuse to be as lazy as he could get away with once he'd found out Jack wasn't going to beat the crap out of him.

Jack tied the buckets back to the bags and stashed the shovel. Thor seemed to look even more sullen under the weight he'd have to carry all the way into town – for the second time in one day.

“Better be grateful you don’t have to carry me on top of that,” Jack grumbled, tugging at the reins. “C'mon. You've got some more work to do today.”

Thor's ears came down another notch.

They hiked the edge of the clay pit, then turned into a well worn sandy path away from it. Dry grass and crippled trees stretched out to their right, down to the bluff. Beneath it was the ocean, a pattern of endless dark blue with whitecaps until it met the sky at a distant horizon.

On their other side were the foothills of the clay crater, red and brown, laced with strips of grass and scrubs. Ahead of him Jack could make out the ruins, dark against the sun. Stone skeletons of spires and the theater, decayed buildings and the large black monolith. The path changed from sand to rubble and then to cobble stones. Now they were on the main road which was probably as old as the ruins. It led to a crossroad. If he turned left he'd get to the ruins. To the right it wound itself down the mountainside to the town and the harbor.

The main road's cobbles were of different stone and color, being repaired and re-built in parts over the years. Yellow sandstone, red brick, gray slate. Jack and Thor passed some early risers; merchants on their way to the town's train station to pick up new stock, some on their way to the next town to run errands. Some were dragging mules with them, some had wagons loaded high with barrels or bags. Thor eyed his mule-mates with disdainful boredom. But then he almost always looked that way.

Behind the next sharp turn the first roofs came into view; red and gray clapboards. Small, old houses were built into the mountainside along the road.

A lanky and dust covered boy surrounded by a small herd of bickering white goats skipped uphill, waving his small hickory switch. “Jack! Hey, Jack! Watch out for Masala – she's waiting at dada's barn for you.”

Jack winced. “She's not givin' up, eh?”

The boy was all laughing brown eyes and cheeky grin. “Never. She wants to cook for you tonight.”

“Thanks for the head's up, Paolo. I'll try sneaking in the back.”

“Not a chance.” Paolo stopped and the goats started cluttering the road, bleating and boxing each other with their short horns. “She's set on you.”

Jack looked down at his clay and sand covered pants and boots. “Oy. She has weird taste in men.”

“She'll make you take a bath. In a tub. With soap!” Paolo looked sympathetic

“Yeah? Maybe she'd better make you take a bath. You look pretty ripe to me,” Jack snorted.

“No no, I'll be gone allll day.” Laughing, Paolo waved his switch and continued skipping up the mountain, his goats following suit.

Masala was Paolo's big sister. Twenty-something and pretty to look at. But then a violet rose was pretty to look at, too. Yet, when you touched it, it stung. Jack preferred not to get stung. Besides, Masala could have been his kid for all he knew. He wasn't exactly sure what year he'd been born in, but he’d been around long enough to acquire all that gray hair, bad knees, bad habits and cynicism.

Hadis seemed to be mildly amused by his daughter's antics, but at least he didn't exactly support her. And why would he? Jack wasn't marriage material. She had to get over him and find someone her age. Someone who cared about a house and enough profit to feed lots of babies.

The further they went down the mountain, the more houses they passed. Women and children were setting up yard shops for the day. Hand woven carpets and table cloths were hung out for by-passers to see. Pottery, cheap jewelry and colorful shawls were put on tables. Some were selling souvenirs like teddy bears wearing t-shirts with 'Welcome to Ba'th Town” printed on them. There were postcards of Ba'th – the town dipped in glorious sunlight with blue and green water and sand-yellow beaches.

Once tourist season was closed people would go back tending to their day-jobs. Some would close up their houses and travel inland to work on their families' peach and apple farms. Some would do what Hadis did – dig for clay stock all through fall and make new pottery during the winter months. Teachers, who had taught tourists to surf or taken them out with their boats to fish and swim all summer long, would go back to school, actually teaching the local upper-class kids how to read, write and do simple math.

Jack descended further into the valley and its net of alleys and streets. The main road cobble turned to tarmac, black as licorice with the odd goat, horse or mule dropping here and there. He was on the market road now. Shops, cafes, horse stables and banking houses were in the process of being opened. The bazaar was on one side, the non-bargaining shops on the other. If he continued on here north he'd get to the hotel district with its fancy bars, six story buildings, wide, groomed gardens and big balconies with view on the ocean. The hotels and some of the non-bargaining shops had electricity. When Jack stayed up by the ruins at night he could see the hotel lights twinkling like fireflies while the rest of Ba'ath was more or less in the dark except for the light house fire at the harbor.

 

Jack led Thor across the market road into the bazaar and down a narrow alley. After a while he wandered into the district of warehouses where wealthy merchants and pottery makers worked and stored their goods and the clay they'd bought from diggers. If Hadis didn't want Jack's leftover clay he'd try to get rid of it here. Someone would give him a good price for several bags.

He took a deep breath and smiled. He'd always liked the smells around here. Spices, clay, leather and wood. He passed the saddlery – well known for their saddles and bridles but also shoes, purses and all kinds of leather goods. The smithies were right next door; the fires already going strong. Jack could feel the heat radiating from there as he walked by. Huge muscled men covered in soot worked here. Not the kind of fellas you'd want to mess with.

Jack left that area behind as well and was soon back in small streets where the warehouses became mere barns and makeshift huts or sheds.

This was where the yard shop people and beach sellers dried their own clay and stored their goods. Many of them lived here, too. The beach sellers were almost the lowest end of the food chain. If you were lower than a beach seller you were either a begger or a thief. Even the whores ranged somewhere between the yard shop people and craftsmen like smithies, fishermen, saddlers, pottery makers and clay diggers.

Here, in this lowliest part of Ba'th, the barns and open sheds reached almost down to the water. Instead of sandy beaches or the neatly paved and presentable harbor, there was a small cobbled walkway along the shore. From there old, wooden piers criss-crossed the water. Small, shabby boats were tied to rotten poles covered with seaweed and shells.

The smell of gutted fish and burning garbage coming form the far end of the land that reached into the ocean like a long, small lance, wasn't too bad because there was always a light breeze coming in from the sea. But it reeked of poverty everywhere around here.

The walkway by the water was full of potholes.

“Watch where ya going,” Jack said, grabbing the reins a tad shorter. Not that Thor gave a damn about anything Jack said. He was finding his way just fine. It was just something Jack did without thinking; talking to the mule and being cautious.

The walkway turned sharply to the left as they continued on it.

He let his eyes wander down to the piers and back to the dark alleys. If he wanted to avoid a run-in with Masala, he needed a diversion, and fast. He had almost reached Hadis's small barn.

He found his rescue in form of a sneaky little bug hiding in the dark, narrow lane between two sheds, hastily counting a handful of taler. Jack blocked the way out with his body and leaned over the bowed head to get a better view on what the boy had in his hands.

Within seconds the skinny kid jumped, turned around and Jack swiftly caught the small hard fist aimed at him with one hand. “Whoa, Mikele! It's me.”

Mikele wasn't impressed. “Stupid! Sneaking up on people like that!”

Jack leaned against the brick wall, still blocking the way out. “Just as stupid as counting your money out here in the streets.”

Mikele, a red haired pre-teen with more freckles than anyone Jack had ever met, shrugged. “It's early. Not many people up yet.” Then he opened his other hand, showing Jack what he had. “Found a purse at the beach. Tourists are so careless. I have almost enough for a decent meal. Just,” he sighed, “one more taler and I could bring mama a chicken to cook for dinner.” He peered past Jack at Thor and his eyes lit up. “You need someone to sieve your clay, Jack? I could do it. Half a taler. I sieve your clay, yes?”

Jack bit his lip, pretending to think about it. “It's a lot of work. I've got two more buckets at the barn that need sieving. You sure you're up to it?”

“Yes! You know I can do it.”

“Might take you a while to sieve all that. And you better do it properly. I'm not gonna pay for sloppiness.”

Mikele's freckled face darkened. “I'm not sloppy!”

Jack knew that. He had paid the boy for working the clay before, but it couldn't hurt to mention it. He dug into his pockets and came up with a coin. “All right, here's the deal. I'm gonna pay you half a taler extra if you go ahead to the barn right now and do something for me. I need to... uh.” He pursed his lips, then shrugged. “All you have to do is tell Masala I'm not showing up today because I’ve gone to the beach. When she's left you come back here and let me know.”

Mikele gave him a gamey grin. “Ahhhh, Masala is after you again.”

Jack winced. “Ye-ah. You gonna do it or not?”

The boy held out his hand and Jack dropped the coin into his grubby palm. “What shall I tell her if she asks questions?”

“You don't know anything, just that I went to the beach.”

“She'd want to know what beach.”

“You have no idea,” Jack said, taking Mikele's arm and pulling him out of the alley to get him to move. “I'm not paying you more for making small talk with her. Scoot.”

“Women always ask questions!”

“Oh, for... tell her I was in a hurry.” He gave the boy a little push to the right direction. Then he cajoled Thor into following him in the small space Mikele had been hiding in. There was barely enough room for both of them.

“She's gonna make you marry her one day.”

“Get outta here,” Jack growled.

The boy laughed and took off.

Jack propped his back up against the brick wall. Thor started pushing his nose against his chest, then mouthed at his shirt. Jack pushed his head away. “Knock that off. I got nothing in there for ya.”

But of course he had and it didn't take Thor long to find it and nibble at the pocket in question until Jack finally pushed at him a little more forcefully. He pulled out the formerly rock hard, now slobbered on the edges, heel of bread and handed it over. Thor crunched it between his teeth and left more slobber on Jack's ratty, former black, now faded to gray, shirt.

“You're welcome,” he grumbled.

He'd have to buy new clothes one of these days. At least his boots were still good since he only wore them when he had to climb into the clay pit. Cleaning the loam off them was a bitch, but that way he didn't have to deal with cuts and bruises from the sharp quartz stones and pebbles.

His green pants, however, were slowly falling apart. They had so many stitched up holes and tears, they were probably only held together by thread and dirt – even though Jack washed them regularly. He should get a pair of leather pants and one of those sturdy cotton shirts most craftsmen wore. Only he didn't have a wife who'd sew for him. He probably had squirreled away enough money to buy good quality clothes, but whenever he thought about it he decided against it, thinking he might need his money stash for something else eventually. So what he usually got were cheap tourist clothes from the bazaar, imported from the big cities, which were supposed to only last one or two summers.

Jack plucked at his slobbery shirt, grimaced and ducked away under Thor's neck to peer out into the back street. Only few men and women were heading this and that way, running their morning errands. But inside the many huts, barns and small grocers was a buzz of activity as people were getting ready to carry their goods to the bazaar, stocking their small vendor's trays for the beaches or getting ready for other work.

The 'Lance' as everyone referred to this strip of land, was a natural border between the lowly Ba'th on one side and seemingly endless beaches on the other. The Lance was a jumble of barns, fishermen huts, grubby drinking holes and at its far end the fire pits where fish guts and other garbage was burned. Swarms of seagulls always hovered there, looking for a bite of fish when it was thrown down into the glowing trench.

Thor was getting bored and started rubbing his butt against the other wall. Probably mites bugging him. Like most mules and horses he got hay mites during the summer. Usually they died in the fall.

Jack returned to his former spot on Thor's other side and stuck his head out into the street facing the ocean that glittered in the morning sun. Across from the Lance, at the far end of Ba'th Town he could make out the lighthouse with its white washed walls. There was the harbor with its tourist boats, cruise ships and the more wealthy fishermen.

The town's council was constantly arguing about the Lance being a sore thumb sticking out between the tourist district and the pretty harbor district. But what could they do? They needed the cheap workers to clean their beaches, dig their clay and sell trinkets to the tourists. And to haul fish and meat in for the hungry mouths of the people of lowly Ba'th and up in the mountains.

More people passed by now, on their way to work or their begging grounds. Masala would come down this way if she had given up waiting for him. Or she could take the back street. Either way Jack was stuck here until Mikele returned if he didn't want to risk running into her.

And he SO didn't want another of those awkward moments. He'd had enough of them ever since the girl had decided she had a crush on him.

What the hell was keeping that boy so long? He didn't worry about Mikele taking his money and run. Those kids might do that with the tourists or the town's upper class people if they had the opportunity, but not with one of their own. There was a code of honor among the people here.

Thor lowered his head and bumped it into Jack's side, almost pushing him to the ground. “Stop that!” He gave the head a hard shove. Thor looked at him from those huge black eyes, accusingly. When Jack turned back to look at the street again, Thor decided to rest his jaw on his shoulder, blowing warm puffs of air into his ear.

Jack sighed, reached up and rubbed the mule's soft nose. “Patience is a virtue. Mikele will be back soon.”

As if on cue the boy returned, grinning from ear to ear. “She's gone. I told her you went to Jannah beach. If she wants to find you, she has a long way to walk.”

“That's far enough,” Jack muttered. “You sure she's really gone?”

“She used the back streets, I followed her for a while to make sure she's leaving,” Mikele said, holding out his hand. “That's a lot more than you asked for.”

Jack sighed and pulled out another coin. A quarter of a taler. Worth half a loaf of bread. Mikele snatched it from him and grinned.

Jack pointed at the street. “If you still want to help with the clay we better get moving.” He tugged at Thor's reins and started walking.

They reached Hadis' small barn only minutes later. Jack tied Thor to one of the iron rings at the back wall and unloaded the buckets while Mikele was already at the pump, working the handle. It always took a while until the water started to flow. Jack carried the clay over and a moment later water was added to it until both buckets were filled to the hilt. Jack went to get another bucket and the stirring poles from inside.

Mikele had worked for him before so he didn't have to tell the boy what to do. He quickly filled the empty bucket with water, too. Then he carried that one over to Thor who stuck his nose in and started to drink.

“Will you come to play with us tonight?” Mikele asked when he returned, taking one of the stirring poles from Jack.

They carefully stirred the clay until it started to mesh with the water and turned soft and mushy. “Sure. I got nothing else to do.”

“Jorge's team won again last time because you weren't there. This time we'll wipe the floor with them,” Mikele said grimly.

“Jorge has all the bullies on his team,” Jack said, eying the gob his clay was turning into.

“Yes! All the big boys. And they don't play fair. So we need you on our team to get even with them!”

“Nah, you just have to be a good team leader.”

Mikele stopped stirring and scowled at Jack. “Jorge is strong and big. Everyone on his team is. So they win. I'm not strong and big. No one from my team is. And no one is afraid of us like everyone is of Jorge. Even his own team is afraid of him, I think.”

“A good team leader doesn't intimidate his people,” Jack said.

“Jorge does and it works,” Mikele muttered.

“Jorge is a big, stupid mule's ass.”

“Yes, but they keep winning. At least most of the time.”

“Keep stirring that clay if you want your money,” Jack reminded him. After a moment of silence where they both worked on turning the mush into a slippery mass, he said, “They keep winning because you guys don't work together. You have to put up a front against them. Outsmart them. You gotta learn to predict each other's moves, think up more strategies. And have each other's backs.”

“But the smaller kids are scared of Jorge's boys. We do have strategies and such, but you know what it’s like. Jorge's guys come running at us like bulls and we scatter apart like pigeons.” Mikele sighed. “At least when you're there they play less dirty. But when you're not, they always cheat and foul.”

Jack checked Mikele's clay and made stirring motions with his hand until the boy continued with his work.

“You know all about the game you need to know. You just have to make your team believe they can win and they will. And when you lose, don't let that stop you. Give them a pep talk,” Jack said.

“We're just too weak. If Jorge's guys foul us we don't stand a chance.”

Jack couldn't argue with that. Mikele's players were a gaggle of snotty kids. Oh, they were all fast. They were all skinny but wiry and robust. But Jorge had much older and bigger boys on his team. There was little balance and that wasn't going to change. Those teams had been set in stone from the get go when Jack had first started fooling around with the boys and the ball, teaching them how to play the game.

Curiously enough, they kept playing it regardless of the unbalanced teams. It had become some kind of war over the course of this summer and sometimes Jack wasn't sure it had been a good idea to encourage them to play at all.

“It's just a game,” he said with a shrug. “Don't beat yerself up over it.”

“You'll be there tonight, yes? You play on our team?”

“Sure. Jorge doesn't need me on his. He's too full of himself anyway.”

Jack carried the buckets into the barn and Mikele followed him with the stirring poles.

Hadis, the barn owner, had probably left with Masala earlier, taking their pottery stock to the bazaar. Hadis was a bazaar seller. He used to be a beach seller, had economized and invested cleverly to become a shop owner. He had his daughter and one clerk working for him. His goal was to move his shop to the more respectable areas and have a real pottery workshop instead of just a barn on the Lance.

Jack, who paid Hadis a bit of rent for his share of the space and tools, was sure his friend would end up being a wealthy merchant some day. He also hoped that it would take a while because if Hadis gave up the barn Jack had to either buy it from him or find a new place to work and – in the chilly winter months – to sleep. Not many barn owners were keen on sharing their small space.

 

 

Two mesh screened window frames were propped up against the wall next to an old tub. Mikele placed them over the tub, making sure they wouldn't slip off or topple over. They fit perfectly on the tub's edges. Jack gradually poured the clay slip on the screens and Mikele started to scrape and rub it through the mesh wire with his hands, separating clay from debris, rubble and stones.

“Don't you like Masala?” Mikele asked out of the blue, throwing pebbles and quartz chunks into the now empty clay buckets next to him.

“Oh, she's a nice girl and all. Pretty, too,” Jack muttered. He watched Mikele work for a moment. “She's a bit too young for me, don'tcha think?”

“Young, yes. But old enough to marry. And Paolo says she can cook.”

“So? Why don't you marry her, eh?”

“She's way too old for me, Jack. Young women are always better. They work the house and have babies and take care of you when you're old.”

“Now, see, I got no house and I'm not too keen on the baby part. Way too much hassle all that.” He gave the dusty red head a gentle knuckle. “Watch that clay, pal! Don't spill it.”

Mikele grimaced and slowed down.

Jack carried the clay he'd collected on his first tour to the pit this morning out to the pump and added water, then started the stirring process all over while Mikele continued sieving.

“When you're done clean the screens and put them back, then clean the buckets and put the clay back in,” Jack ordered once he had poured the new clay slip onto the mesh screens.

“I know what to do. Do you want me to come back tomorrow to help with the rest of it?”

“That depends. How much?”

“Two taler. I get it into the bags to dry. I clean up, too.”

Jack jiggled the loose coins in his pants pocket. He could easily deal with the clay himself, but then he'd have to come in here tomorrow morning and Masala might be here, waiting for him. If the boy took care of the clay Jack didn't have to return until it had dried out completely in two or three days to start on new pottery.

“One taler,” he bargained.

“No no no. Two taler.”

“One. Take it or leave it.” Jack went outside and took off his boots. He cleaned them under the pump with a coarse scrubbing brush to get the mostly dried loam off. When he entered the barn again and put them in a corner to dry, Mikele looked up from where he was still sieving clay.

“One taler, one quarter.”

“Deal.” Jack pulled the money from his pants. “One for today, one and a quarter for tomorrow. Make sure all the water and gooey stuff is gone before you put the clay into the bags. If the stuff is ruined I'm gonna find you and cut off your ears.”

Mikele snorted, but nodded as he came over and took the coins. The kid could buy the chicken and bread for his mama and maybe some candy for his little siblings Mania and Ranja.

“You get the best and cleanest clay ever, Jack.”

“I'm counting on it. I'm gonna take Thor to the fields. I see ya tonight at the game.” He held up his hand and Mikele gave him a high five, then returned to his work.

 


	2. Ties That Bind II

**II**

Jack handed Thor over to Raoul, Hadis's oldest son, who was working on his father's pumpkin patches. One of the two fields had been harvested and needed to be plowed to be prepared for the next seeding. The other field was still full of the orange and yellow fruit. Most of the small fields and vegetable patches were north of the ruins. There were no real farmers here at the coast, but people still had to eat and survive, especially when money became an issue during the months after tourist season closed.

Raoul would take Thor home to feed him. Jack didn't need the mule anymore today. He'd go to the ruins later this afternoon and look for tourists in need of a guide. Right now his destination was the beach. He longed for a bath and maybe he could grab a shower. He was in bad need of a shave, too.

The trail from the fields down to Ba'th was sandy and dusty and if he hiked the whole distance to the beach he'd lose a lot of time. So, when a small donkey wagon loaded high with bails of hay rumbled past, Jack quickly swung himself up and settled on the wooden frame's top plank, leaning back against the neatly stacked bails.

The driver didn't notice the extra weight or didn't care one way or the other. Jack picked a blade of hay and started chewing on it as the pumpkin, potato and crop fields made space for goat and sheep pastures and then orchards. Soon they were back in Ba'th Town and Jack got off the wagon close to the market road.

He reached Lance beach with a spring in his step and strolled along the surf, his bare feet welcoming the cool water.

The beach closest to the Lance was mostly occupied by Ba'th people who collected driftwood, shells and seaweed. Naked kids played in the shallow water and old men sat around small fires further up the shore, drinking rum and playing dice or smoking pipes. The beach was too close to the Lance; the tourists rarely came down here. The farther away from the Lance, the more attractive the beaches became.

The sand was less gritty the further he walked and then he quickly climbed the mesh wire that parted Lance beach from Hooriya beach, one of the many tourist areas of Ba'th. The fence was supposed to be guarded to keep begger kids at bay, but no one really cared about it. If you couldn't climb the fence you just waded around it in the surf or took the longer way over the market road and the boardwalk to get to the other beaches.

At this time of year not all the sun lounges were occupied and the ice cream and lemonade vendors up by the dunes and boardwalk weren't too busy anymore.

Jack had almost reached the end of Hooriya beach when he left the surf and made his way through the warm sand and up to the dunes.

Viktor, who sold ice cream and popcorn, sitting in his tiny vendor-booth all summer long, raised a hand in greeting.

 ****

 

 

“You are just the guy I was looking for, Jack. I need you to take over for me tomorrow. Tell me you don't have any other jobs then?” Viktor gave him the puppy dog eyes. He was a six foot heavyset kind of guy with a pudgy face and scruffy beard. Not Jack's type by any means, but somehow he couldn't say no to Viktor. Not when he gave him that look.

Besides, Viktor let him store some of his stuff in his booth so Jack owed him. And he got paid whenever he jumped in for his friend.

“When do you need me?” They slapped hands and shoulders over the counter.

“You could sleep in here. That way you'd be out and about when the first brats show up with their parents. I need to pack up to leave this week. Need to fix the old horse wagon tomorrow morning. I should be back around noon. I'm gonna close this joint up for the winter in two days. You gonna keep an eye on it for me, right?”

“Sure. Leave the key under the step.” Another place to sleep if it got chilly. Not as warm as the barn which had the brick oven, but good enough. Jack actually preferred the beach over The Lance at nights, so this was perfect.

He would have the place for himself while Viktor and his family were going to work on his parents' peach farm until next year.

“You know, Jack, you should consider joining us and work for my father. He's paying good money. You'd have a roof over your head and hot meals every day,” Viktor said. They had had this conversation on and off every year as far as Jack could recall.

“And who'd keep an eye on this rathole of a booth?” Jack asked as he entered through the small door next to the counter.

“I could pay one of the kids hanging out here,” Viktor said with a shrug.

“I do it for free, just because I like you so much,” Jack quipped and Viktor snorted.

“You let the kids sleep in here anyway. Don't think I'm stupid.” Viktor frowned. “Ramira doesn't like it. Says them kids are useless little buggers.”

Jack shrugged. “They aren't any trouble, they just need a roof over their head from time to time. And Ramira's gonna have your hide if you pay good money to one of them for looking after the booth. If you leave a bucket of paint I might even get some work done. This ugly hut could use a do-over.”

Viktor gave him a crooked grin and nodded. Ramira was an intimidating woman with a sharp tongue and no one liked to cross her, least of all her husband. “You just make sure the place is still here when I'm back.”

Jack gave his friend a sloppy salute and went into the small storeroom in the back where he retrieved a bundle with some of his belongings from one of the crates. He loosened the leather strap around the blanket that held everything together and pulled his towel, a tube of soap and his small razor clasp knife from the pile.

“Anyone we know guarding the showers today?” he asked Viktor as he took off his t-shirt and pulled the leather strip from his graying hair. He should probably cut it; it was getting really long in the back these days. It had less silver and more brown in it when it was short. Used to anyway.

He got rid of his sorry excuse for pants and was in his black undershorts. He combed a hand through his tangled hair and plucked the fancy sunshades from among his clothes They were a cheap fake from the bazaar, but looked just like the coolest brand of glasses in this year's fashion. Wrapping the all-purpose soap tube and razor knife into the towel, Jack was ready to hit the beach.

“Rooster is guarding the showers. You know him, he'll be off to have coffee and cake in about an hour. You can get in then,” Viktor said. He was re-filling the popcorn pan with fresh corn and butter. “Ramira brought me lunch. There's some left if you're hungry. Chicken and rice.”

Jack never declined a free meal. “When I'm back,” he said and slipped out the door, being a tourist now – as long as anyone didn't look too closely at his loamy ankles and dust covered face.

He spread his towel – an impossibly bright orange with a yellow duck printed on it, another ugly but cheap purchase from the bazaar – out on the sand and wrapped one corner around the soap and the sunglasses. Then he stashed the small razor clasp knife in the zipper pocket of his shorts and jogged down the beach.

The water was refreshing, like cool liquid silk enclosing his body. After he'd spent all morning digging for and working with clay Jack welcomed it more than ever. He left the shore behind with strong strokes until he was far out there, surrounded only by the ocean. The beach was nothing but a yellow strip in the distance, Ba'th Town a colorful cluster of red, yellow and white dots cluttering the coast and foothills of the mountains.

Jack turned on his back and let himself float, enjoying the water and the sun. His eyes caught seagulls soaring across the sky and he wondered what it'd be like to fly. Up there. Sometimes, when he'd been at the ruins, he’d spotted gliders circling the sky over the mountains.

The big city, Madinah, where the governments and the Armed Forces were, had gliders. Jack had heard they were patrolling the skies to keep potential intruders at bay. He had no idea what kind of intruders they were trying to intimidate, though. He didn't think anyone but the Armed Forces possessed gliders. Even the richest tourists traveled by train or horse carriage.

 _Maybe they think some threat could come from space_ , he thought, blinking into the sunlight, still watching the seagulls.

He shrugged it off. There was no threat. The gliders were nothing but a display of power. To make sure that even this far away from the Madinah City people knew there was a government and Armed Forces.

But one time when Jack had seen them, he had suddenly felt a tingling sensation all over his skin. Goose bumps. He had stared after the gliders, nothing more than black spots far away in the blue sky, and somehow he'd been sure... no, he'd known...

_I could fly those babies._

_Yeah, right. You've never even seen one of those things up close._

Jack needed to move. He rolled over and started crawling back, supported by the waves, towards the coast. He loved the water; its slight saltiness, the powerful waves breaking on the shore, the white crest. Jack had spent all his life close to the ocean; he knew its strength, its beauty, its moodiness when it turned from being playful like a kitten into a ravenous beast, sucking you into vortexes underwater, holding you in its claws. He'd dreamed of having his own boat when he'd been one of those snotty begger kids himself in a town similar to Ba'th.

He could master a boat. Flying – not so much.

A moment later, when he carried his towel to a small stone hut on the look out for Rooster, he easily melted in with the groups of vacationers trailing the beach, playing ball or sun bathing on the lounges. There was a family building a sand castle, couples smooching on blankets, oblivious to the world around them. Others were rubbing sun block on their partner's backs, some were alone and reading. Dogs were chasing each other at the surf and beach sellers were circling, offering postcards or holographic pictures of the ruins, sun glasses, colorful hats, and sun blocker.

Jack found Rooster gone and slipped into the shower house. Every beach had its own showers with six stalls. It wasn't fancy and most tourists preferred to use the showers at their luxurious hotel rooms, but it had warm, running water and each stall had a small mirror hanging on the wall, and a shelf for belongings. Of course only tourists or wealthy people were allowed to use the showers.

He whistled some out of tune melody he'd picked up somewhere as he took a long, hot shower, soaping off saltwater and any remaining grime from the clay pit. He washed his shorts while he was at it and hung them on the hook next to his towel. Then he lathered up his face and shaved, using his small knife. He lived outdoors and slept under the stars most of the year. He had no problem with getting dirty, but he liked to be clean as often as possible and not to faint from his own smell.

He rinsed his face, put his knife away and wrapped the towel around his waist, then gathered his stuff and left. Rooster wasn't back yet and Jack made it out of the shower house undetected.

Viktor had herds of little customers who chattered and giggled and pointed sticky fingers at the list of ice cream brands, trying to out yell each other. “Chocolata! Strawberry! Lemon! Ginger!”

Those tourist kids didn't seem any different from the local brats aside from the fancy, colorful swimsuits and sunhats. Some of them probably had parents or grandparents who'd lived in Ba'th Town, had worked themselves into the upper classes and moved to the big city or other towns and were now returning for their summer vacation. Anyone ambitious enough to reach for higher goals could become wealthy, no matter what education or skin color you had. For some folks it actually happened.

Jack walked in through the booth's back door and quickly dressed in his work-clothes. Khaki shorts and white t-shirt that had 'Ba'th Vacations' printed on the front and back in bold letters. He grabbed the bowl with lunch and a spoon Viktor had left for him on the table and went back outside to eat.

Ramira, as most women Jack knew, was a great cook. The rice was spicy, the chicken pieces crisp and golden. And despite her sharp tongue and sometimes vicious nature she always cooked for two, which was why Jack hung out here a lot around lunch time.

He stretched his legs, buried his toes in the warm sand and looked out at the ocean, not missing a damn thing in his life.

*******

His pockets heavy with the taler he'd made touring vacationers around the ruins, Jack sat on the tier somewhere in the middle of the theater's stone tribune. He watched the boys kick around the ball for fun. The semi aggressive tension from before the game was gone now. Jorge's team had won, but just barely, and Jack thought that Mikele's boys could have made if if they weren’t such chickens. But he had done his best to crank up some team spirit and the kids had done their best to keep the ball in their court and make some scores. Mikele had been right about Jorge's guys playing less dirty when Jack was around. Mostly because Jack was the owner of the ball and could end the game quickly by confiscating said ball.

It was just a silly game, anyway. But apparently for these kids it was a lot more. They met every week at the same time, like clockwork, to play against Jorge's guys. And most of the time they got beaten up good. Jack couldn't even remember when that had started. All he'd done was entertain himself by teaching some boys the fine art of kickball. Somehow it had turned into this rival thing between the younger Lance kids and Jorge's gang of teens.

Maybe it was time to let the ball disappear. Jack had thought about it. He'd bought it on a whim at the bazaar. The boys kept it hidden in one of the tunnels underneath the tribune. If Jack took the ball with him and threw it off a cliff, he'd put an end to this stupid competition for a while.

But there was no point. The boys would probably throw their bit of money together and buy a new ball and that would only serve to get them in trouble with their folks. Money was rare in lowly Ba'th. You didn't spend it on crap like balls or toys.

Now, with Jorge's hooligans gone, the other kids were just playing for fun and that was more like it.

A small limpet attached itself to Jack's side and a sticky hand patted his arm. “Ith you sad, Jack?”

“Are you... and no, I'm not. Why would I be sad, hm?” He looked down his nose at a small face almost as freckled as Mikele's, framed by wild red curls. He made a silly grimace and waggled his eyebrows to prove that he was his usual funny self.

“Acauth you hath no wife,” Mania said around the lollipop in her mouth. Not that she'd talk any better without it.

 _Why is everyone talking to me about women lately?_ “Not everyone needs a wife. I don't.”

Mania slurped on her lollipop, then pulled it out of her mouth and held it up to him. “Want thome? Mikel goth it for me. Lemon.”

Jack smiled. “Lemon, eh? It's aaalllll yours.”

Mania laughed, her lips red and glistening from sugary candy drool. “Aaalllll mine!”

She continued to suckle on it and snuggled against Jack. After a moment of companionable silence she piped up. “I couldda mawwy you. Do you think I'th pwetty?”

“Yes, you are very pretty. The prettiest girl under ten I've ever met,” Jack said sincerely.

“Thee! You coudda mawwy me. Then you hadth a fam'ly,” Mania exclaimed happily.

“Or,” Jack said, trying not to laugh, “we could vow to always stay friends and forget about the whole marriage thing. How's that?”

“Will you thill give Mikel money tho he can buy me candy?”

Jack suppressed a sigh. All he accomplished was giving her rotten teeth. But what else could he do? Brushing a hand through her mop of hair, he said, “Sure. As long as Mikele is sieving my clay.”

Mania beamed at him. She was probably five, maybe six, old enough to beg and do small jobs. In a couple of years she might do needlework or laundry for rich families and in a couple more years from that she might end up having a gaggle of kids. If she got lucky she'd end up married to a guy who worked for real money and moved her out of lowly Ba'th. Most likely, though, she'd end up like her own mama – trying to survive.

Jack dug into his pocket and pulled out a quarter of a taler. He took her small dirty hand and placed it into her palm, then closed her fingers around it.

“Thank you! I coudda buy 'nother lolli!”

“Or one of those pretty princess cards you like.”

She laughed and whispered, “Faiwy tale cawth, Jack. I want the Daithy pwintheth. The'th the pwettietht of all.”

Mania loved her cards. Small motion image cards with fairies and princesses. Mania had told him the girls got them at some of the beach booths and traded them among each other. Mania, however, kept hers hidden in an old cigar box. It was her treasure and she wouldn't trade one of them for the world. Each coin spent for one of those cards had been hard earned and probably put aside without her mother's knowledge. Jack didn't know and he didn't ask. She had showed him the box once, her small face glowing with pride. He had to swear by Thor's life not to tell anyone about her box.

Jack put a finger to his mouth and winked. “It's our secret. Don't tell Mikele or he'll think he doesn't have to work for his money anymore.”

Mania giggled and almost lost her lollipop. She shoved the quarter deep into the pocket of her green apron and winked back at him.

“Jack, hey, Jack, come and play!” Paolo yelled, waving at him. Others joined in, trying to cajole him into coming down.

“You hathta go and play. I ith cheewing you on,” Mania said.

Jack rubbed a bruise on his leg where he'd gotten kicked earlier. No pain, no gain. He stood, stretched his sore muscles and joined the roughhousing bunch chasing after the ball.

 

 


	3. Ties That Bind III

**III**

He reached out a translucent hand to touch the slip of metal, his fingertips sliding through it uselessly.

_Damn._

He was still in the process of learning these things.

 _Don't think in physical terms_ , he told himself. _Objects are only immobile until you move them. With your mind. You don't have hands anymore. They are just an illusion._

Yet, it felt easier if he tried to pick it up with his non-existent hand. It felt more natural to him. Daniel tried grasping the small item again. Again, he failed.

Why was this so hard? He had learned to light candles real quick. He'd been back at Kheb to practice. But moving objects was still a challenge.

Frustration took over and he tried to follow Oma's advice. _Distract yourself until the impatience has passed, then try again._

That, however, was easier said than done.

He slid away from the annoying little item and looked at the pile of gear at large. Everything was stacked neatly in this chamber. The leftovers of three lives, the remains of SG-1. Stored away to be forgotten.

Weapons, vests, GDOs, radios... all here. If only he had a way to... If only.

He'd been with Teal'c today.

Teal'c had sat unmoving, surrounded by candles, for hours in a bleak chamber. He had worn ruby red robes. The color was a sign of the Army of Sinners. The golden embroidery on the robe's back resembled a Goa'uld ready to strike. Teal'c hadn’t acknowledged anything but the herbs and the water the monks offered to him between kel'no'reeming. He was retreating more and more into himself as time passed on.

Daniel had tried to reach him, to make contact. It had worked once, there was no reason why it couldn't be done again.

But Teal'c... Teal'c, who had received Daniel's gentle prods and pokes while Jack had been captured by Ba'al, was only focusing on one thing now: Meditation to pay for his sins. There was no space in his mind for an echo of Daniel.

He couldn't be more than an echo. Couldn't afford to be more than a thought, a dream, a whisper. So subtle, they couldn't know it was him. The Others didn't approve of any kind of interference. They had made that very clear. His staying with Jack at Ba'al's fortress had been greatly frowned upon. Daniel had seen it as consoling a friend in need. The Others did not share his view of the situation and he was paying for what he had done ever since.

All Daniel could do now was try to get through to his friends and be subtle about it.

He wanted to jog their memories, to wake them up – nothing more. The Others couldn't blame him for trying. Okay, so they would blame him anyway. Daniel knew they were watching him, waiting for his next slip... But he still had to try.

Sam was semi responsive in her sleep, but never remembered anything of what he'd been trying to tell her in the mornings. She'd found an inner peace in her new profession. It was like she had shrugged off her cocoon and turned into a butterfly.

At nights Daniel sometimes sat with her, just like he did with Jack, trying to give her images of the gate, a DHD, Earth's star constellations, the wormhole. Sometimes she talked in her sleep about gate diagnostics or she'd reel off gate addresses. Sometimes she mumbled their names in her sleep. Calling Jack 'Colonel' even then. But every morning Sam put on her rubber boots and walked out into her fields of flowers and herbs to tend to them, not wasting a single thought on stargates, DHDs or anything even remotely close to quantum physics.

And then there was Jack.

Jack's mind was locked up tight. Even when Daniel tried to calm his friend during the nightmares he couldn't get beyond that barrier put in place by the memory stamp. Sometimes he wondered if Jack was unconsciously shielding himself to keep Daniel out. Jack had built his own barrier long before Daniel ascended. Maybe his strong refusal to acknowledge Daniel's presence at all was just a natural automatic response by now.

Yet... When he'd been in the infirmary with Jack after the whole Ba'al disaster, there had been a silver lining.

“ _I always seem to be saying goodbye to you.”_

“ _Yeah, I noticed that. Why don't you stick around for a while?”_

“ _I can't, really.”_

“ _You just did.”_

“ _Special occasion.”_

“ _Christmas?”_

” _No.”_

“ _Groundhog Day?”_

“ _Nooo.”_

“ _I've got my journey, you've got yours?”_

“ _Something like that, yeah...”_

And Jack had smiled and his eyes had gone soft like liquid chocolate. He'd been exhausted and put through the wringer. But he had smiled and Daniel couldn't remember the last time Jack had smiled at him like that, or looked at him like that. Couldn't remember the last time they'd had a conversation that wasn't biting or mocking or purely professional – with the exception of Daniel's final mission when he'd been dying of radiation sickness and Jack had suddenly put all their petty arguments and issues aside.

But even then, even when Jack had sat with him for hours and hours while he was drowning in his own fluids... even then there had been that barrier between them. Too many things unsaid and undone. Too many things said and done they couldn't take back.

“ _I may have, might have, grown to admire you... a little.”_

“ _That's touching”_

Jack had been the one to make it possible for Daniel to ascend. Jack had told Jacob to stop treating him. He had let him go. And Daniel wanted to believe that Jack hadn't just been relieved to see him vamoose. That Jack had let him go for the right reasons, not because he was secretly glad to get rid of him.

Next time Daniel and Jack had met in Ba'al's little shop of horror.

Jack had been skeptical...

“ _I just tossed my shoe through you.”_

And then angry...

“ _Okay…put yourself in my shoes and me in yours.”_

“ _You'd be here for me.”_

“ _Damn straight! I'd have busted you out, blown this rat hole to hell and made sure that son-of-a-bitch suffered!”_

They had argued and for the first time in ages it had felt right again. It had felt like 'the thing we do', despite the fact that what they'd argued about had been Jack's life. Jack's soul.

At one point Jack had asked Daniel to end it and he'd refused to even listen to that. He couldn't believe Jack would rather die than take Daniel's offer of ascension. Jack had balked and Ba'al had driven more knives and acid into him, enjoying his little game of torture... had gotten closer and closer to really breaking Jack.

Daniel had acted then and risked being expelled from the higher planes. He had done so little and, yet, The Others had turned their backs on him and he'd been on his own. He had tried to argue with them about exceptions from their rules, about human potential, passion and empathy... but there was no point. In the end he had shrugged it off. Jack was alive. That mattered.

When Daniel had said goodbye to Jack in the infirmary; when he'd assured him that...

“ _Look, I know you don't think so…right now, I mean I know you have your doubts, but uh, because you've been through something that no one should have to go through. I guess what I'm trying to say is…you're gonna be all right.”_

Jack had looked at him searchingly, openly. “ _How do you know?”_

“ _You're just gonna have to trust me.”_

“ _I can do that.”_

Just like that. And Daniel had left him in the hands of Sam, Teal'c and Jonas, He had believed his own words, had been sure Jack was going to be all right. Because Jack was a fighter and Daniel, in his ascended form, had been able to see beyond the O'Neill bravado and the 'though a candle burns in my house, there's nobody home' scam Jack kept wrapped around himself like a well worn, old coat. Jack might have been close to giving up at Ba'al's fortress; he'd come out of this more scarred and burned. But when all was said and done, Jack O'Neill hadn't been broken.

Daniel had been grateful Jack was alive. He'd left and carried that smile with him; a precious memory, a sign they had left their troubles behind. It was supposed to be a final goodbye. Daniel thought they had parted, both at peace with each other and the universe. A goodbye he could live with and move on.

And yet, Daniel sometimes wondered if Jack was still resenting him unconsciously. If Jack was still too freaked about what had happened between them on that mission long before Kelowna had even been on their schedule. If those old issues were still there inside Jack like a bleak spot. Veiled by the memory stamp, but not gone.

At one point after Daniel had been chewed out by The Others for keeping his friend company and giving Teal'c the idea on how to free Jack, Oma had showed up to plead Daniel's case. She'd smoothed down ruffled feathers, had taken it upon herself to watch over him more closely. The Others deemed him young and foolish and in need of a lesson. They wouldn't discuss this with him on any level and he was ignored like a naughty child that had been put in a corner.

But Oma stuck around, teaching him the do's and don't's. She was also teaching him to use his potential; to spread his wings. And to leave behind the ties that anchored him to the lower plane and its people.

He was more than happy to leave Daniel Jackson behind. That person he had been, always struggling to live up to his own expectation, but never really able to do so. The need to make a difference for others, but never achieving that goal to his satisfaction. He didn't want to go back to being that person anymore. For more reasons than he could count off on one hand.

Being what he was now – energy, a consciousness free of any physical reins – exceeded all his wildest expectations.

Oma had taken him places... He had drifted in fields of asteroids, been inside a nebula and chased after meteors. His mind could take in all of this and so much more. He understood evolution now. A grain of sand, so complex in its simplicity, was just as important to the great scheme of things as a seedling, men, or the stargate. Everything had its place, its time and its destiny. Good, evil, gray areas in between, they all had a purpose.

Like a clockwork the universe was full of circles and cog wheels that touched each other and locked into each other, then drifted apart again, only to meet again elsewhere.

He was only at the beginning of understanding and learning. And he wanted to explore it all.

Yet, he couldn't let go. And he couldn't help questioning some of the rules he had to abide in order to walk this path.

He'd never been good at being a mere bystander. It was the hardest thing about what he was now. Being able to finally make that difference he always wanted to make. And yet, his hands were tied.

“ _What good's the power to make the wind blow or toss lightning around if you can't use it to spring an old friend outta jail?”_ Jack's words had edged themselves into Daniel's mind. They kept coming back to haunt him ever since SG-1 had been captured and transferred to the planet Ba'th.

Ba'th. Resurrection. How apt.

_Jack isn't in jail now. He's happily living here with all the freedom in the world. He's probably happier now than he's been in years._

But it was all wrong. It was not meant to be this way. He couldn't just let this happen, not even with everything he'd learned, and watch. Not for much longer.

'I was looking for you,' Oma said without accusation.

'I know. I was just...' He trailed off, taking in the gear of his friends once more.

'Lingering.'

'Yesss. That.' He turned to her and decided to make his stand. Now. 'Teal'c's symbiote will mature in just a couple of months. It wasn't supposed to grow this fast. Not for a very long time.'

'The prim'ta is growing faster for Teal'c is spending much time kel'no'reeming. Also the symbiote feeds on the herbs he consumes every day. It is nourishment meant to support the growth of the prim'ta.'

'You know what that means for Teal'c.' Daniel concentrated on the slip of metal again. He could almost feel the cold material, the rubbery texture of the frame and the links of the chain as it slid through his fingers.

Almost.

He felt her confirmation before she let him know. 'Teal'c will find salvation. He will be free to walk the great path with us.'

With that, she whisked away, out of the facility where SG-1's belongings were stored.

Daniel followed her, passing through walls and the roof, ascending into the blue sky. Clouds drifted by as he soared through the troposphere and focused on the small energy particles Oma left in her wake. Daniel coiled and stretched, carried by the winds this far up. He usually enjoyed the feeling of zero gravity, but now he didn't have time to play with the elements.

He caught up to Oma when they broke through the atmosphere.

'Ascension?' He weaved his astral tendrils through hers to slow her down and they meshed together. 'Does he even have a choice in this?'

'It is the Jaffa's belief of the afterlife. The calak will make the journey through darkness into the next life. Teal'c's calak has begun this journey. Once he releases his prim'ta he will be able to move on.'

'You didn't answer my question. Does he have a choice?' Anger vibrated through him like electricity.

Oma became a vortex of brightness and whirled around him, smoothing the sharp edges of his emotions. 'Everyone has a choice, Daniel.'

'A choice between ascension and dying, yes. But Teal'c wouldn't have to make that choice if he wasn't stuck in that monastery. He'll never have a true choice because his memories have been taken from him!' Daniel slid away from her, unwilling to be lulled into acceptance.

'The events leading to this point in his life are as they are. We cannot meddle in this.'

He shrunk into a small but bright pulsar. 'No. But we can make sure someone will come to their rescue.'

Then he concentrated on a nova locas and left Oma hovering in space.

*******

It was night on Earth.

Daniel welcomed the familiar star constellations, the feeling of coming home, as he descended into the mountain and trailed the gray hallways dipped in neon light. He stopped by his old office. Here, he felt like an intruder now. It wasn't his office anymore.

Pages of open books fluttered gently as he brushed by the desk and came to a halt beside the forlorn figure standing in front of a bookshelf, deep in thought.

Jonas Quinn reached for a book and paused, his fingers hovering, then sliding to another book. But he didn't pull it out. Instead he shrugged and went back to Daniel's desk, which was now Jonas' desk. It was cluttered just like it used to be when it had been Daniel's. Journals, drawings, pens, books.

Coffee cups.

Daniel missed coffee sometimes.

Jonas sat down and rubbed tired eyes. Apparently he liked working through the night, too. Daniel wondered if Jack had ever stopped by Jonas' office to remind him it was time to take a break, go home, get a life, not to 'support your allergies by sticking your nose in all those dusty old books'... If Jack had ever hung out here with Jonas and juggled or fiddled with priceless artifacts or pretended to read books upside down just to annoy him.

Probably not. Jack and Jonas had still been at odds with each other even when Jack had taken him on the team to avoid having a Russian dumped on him.

So he'd probably left Jonas alone most of the time to work in peace.

 _Lucky you_ , Daniel thought. Sometimes being Jack's friend... or whatever it actually was they had been in the end... had been challenging at times.

He got distracted as he looked at the big TV screen showing the weather channel. The sound was off, but a diagram was displayed. Colorado Springs, 81 degrees, sunny. L A, 97 degrees. Washington DC, 86 degrees, sunny.

It was summer.

When SG-1 had gone missing it had barely been spring. By now their IDCs had been removed from the SGC's computers, the search put on hold. But Daniel knew Hammond would move heaven and hell if he got a straw to grasp on the whereabouts of his people.

Jonas cracked a yawn and opened a journal. He picked up a pen, probably to make an entry about his day or a mission.

Daniel pictured himself putting a hand on Jonas' head as he formed the letters and numbers in his mind. Again and again and again... it was like trying to send a radio signal through lots of static. Daniel wished he was better at this. It had been so easy with Teal'c back then because Teal'c had been deep in kel'no'reem.

Jonas jotted down today's date and paused. His mind was probably occupied with some complicated writing on a temple wall. Daniel found it amusing how often they'd found complicated writing on temple walls – and most of the time it turned out to be nothing but praise for some Goa'uld. All the translation work for just another 'All the worship to Lord XY'

Now Daniel looked at a temple wall and instantly knew. It was part of the glowy-thing as Jack liked to call it. While ascension didn't make you all knowing it certainly gave you a quick grasp of anything you attempted to learn.

 _Pay attention, Jonas_ , he thought with growing frustration.

Jonas started copying glyphs into his journal, pulling them from his mind like a turkey recipe or a grocery list. Fascinating mind; almost photographic in its ability to memorize anything he read, even if he didn't understand the language. Those wheels were turning fast, but Daniel needed Jonas to slow down and let him in.

 _Come on, you're a bright guy, you can hear me..._ _Tell Hammond I was here. Tell him he has to try to get permission to send the X-303 now. They have to go to the planet. The planet, not the moon. There is no one on the moon. Go to the planet, talk to the Authorities and dig deep. Way deep._

Hammond had tried to send a team after SG-1 when there had been no contact after their departure. But the gate never connected again. They had tried for days with no success and it was soon clear that the problem wasn't on the SGC's end. Daniel didn't know all the details, but he assumed that Hammond had talked to the president and asked for permission to send the X-303 after his missing team - and had been slapped down. The ship had was still been under construction back then, docked in an underground bay in Nevada, and not ready to launch, not to mention any S&R to an unknown planet.

They had probably tried to contact Thor, but never heard back from him. Daniel knew the Asgard were battling the Replicators on too many fronts. The Tok'ra had to switch home base again and there hadn't been any word from them either, not even from Jacob.

But now... almost six months later... the X-302 had to be close to ready, or at least up to being navigational in space. He didn't know for sure, but he didn't have many choices here. Even if he managed to find the Tok'ra, there was no guarantee they would sense his presence unless he really pushed his boundaries. And even if he could reach them, even if he could somehow get into Jacob's mind... the Tok'ra didn't have many ships to spare on any good day.

Jonas was here now. He was Daniel's best chance of being heard. And Hammond was SG-1's best chance of getting rescued.

And so Daniel began the mantra again. Destination. Planet. X-303. Back up. He tried to transfer an image of Ba'th, tried to make it clear that the gate was on a moon, but SG-1 was not. The moon was a dead end. There was an underground facility, but it only served as a storage compartment.

Jonas' eyes widened. The pen trembled in his hand.

He started to write.

Ba'th. PX349-4, stamped, X-302...

_YES! Focus. Here. On me. Tell Hammond this is similar to P3R-118._

Jonas crossed out PX349-4 and replaced the symbols with P3R-118

No. Nononono... Daniel wanted to yell or throttle him. He started again. Jonas stood in his office, his head tilted. His pen hovered over the words he'd just written down.

Something wrapped itself around Daniel like a vice, pulling him away, squeezing and strangling his astral body.

“Wait,” Jonas whispered, “Wait... Whoever you are...“

Daniel was swept away with so much force that several books jumped off the shelves, flew across the office and crashed to the ground and on the desk where Jonas sat, dumbfounded, covering his head with both arms as books rained down on him.


	4. Ties That Bind IV

**IV**

Jack served ice cream and popcorn all morning until Viktor had taken over. Normally, when he wasn’t playing the tour guide, Jack was on the beaches, selling his pottery and doodads. But Viktor always paid him for jumping in at the booth, so Jack didn't mind.

He enjoyed the blueberry ice cream cone he had mooched from his friend before he'd left. It was another hot day and the sticky, purple mass was melting fast so he had to gobble it down in order to not ruin his tour guide shirt with purple splotches.

As he trudged towards the ruins, licking the last drops of blueberry from the cone, he decided only to do short tours today. The short tour included the baths, the theater and the monolith. The long route extended the tour to the underground chambers and tunnels by the theater. In the long, hot summer days Jack always welcomed the coolness down there, but he'd run out of kerosene for the pit lamps a couple of days ago and 'Ba'th Vacations' wasn't going to pay for another stock this season.

'Ba'th Vacations' ran all the tourist attractions in the coastal areas and owned most of the hotels and beaches. They also owned the ruins and sixty percent of what Jack collected for doing the tours. Every couple of months a suit from the cities came down here to collect from Jack what they deemed theirs. 'Ba'th Vacations' had spent a fortune to dig up all the artifacts and reconstruct some of the buildings. Among pottery and old weapons they'd found stone tablets and the monolith covered with glyphs. The tablets had been taken to the Madinah City for studies, but returned some time later to be displayed for the tourists. No one ever got to know what was written on them; the results of the studies had never made it in Jack's little guide book or anywhere else as far as he could tell.

Yet, one of the frequently asked questions Jack had to face on an almost daily basis was; What do the writings say?

Of course Jack had the answer to that one. He had an answer for everything. He hadn't become tour guide because of his good looks. Okay, so he'd probably been the only one who signed up for the job when the 'Ba'th Vacation' guy had come down here, looking for a guide. But Jack was good at what he did. They had given him that little book with dates and facts. They had also provided the uniform and a cool cap to go with it. An extra set of clothes was always nice.

The ruins weren't fenced or guarded; everyone could come here and wander around or visit the theater. The local kids played gladiators in the arena, with wooden swords and shields, and the visitors applauded and paid extra.

Jack strolled over the wide grassy plateau between the theater and the baths, waving his cap and yelling loud enough for everyone to hear that the guide had arrived to, “...take you on a journey into the past! To tell you the tale of these ruins, built by the false god Bart, the founder of Ba'th Town! For four taler you will hear the story of conquest, slavery and torture! And the heroic acts of a young scholar who freed the good people of Ba'th from their cruel and powerful master! C'mon over here, folks! Four taler – for the whole tour! Half a taler extra if we have young gladiators in the arena today!”

Since it was almost end of the season he ended up with only seven people

Jack collected the money in his cap, counted it quickly and let it slide into the pockets of his khaki shorts. He scanned his customers. Three young men, from the city going by their fancy clothes and hair cuts. Two women in colorful batik style wrap dresses. Most likely from the city, too. And one couple, middle-aged, dressed more old fashioned. They might have been from one of the larger rural towns. The women were happily snapping pictures with cameras. Nice, mixed bunch. This was gonna be a piece of cake.

Once he was sure he had the full attention of his audience Jack started with the basic facts he'd memorized from his book. The estimated date of the emperor's arrival at this coast, about Ba'th being the first town the god had built, which was why it had been named the same as the whole planet. He explained how Lord Bart had sent his slaves to work in the clay pits and built his empire and last, but not least, some blurbs about the architecture.

“All this,” Jack said, making a grand gesture to include the ruins in their whole glory, “was built by Lord Bart's slaves, our forefathers. Every stone, every column comes from our local pit where even today the people of Ba'th dig their pottery clay.”

The three young men were whispering among themselves. Jack ignored them and went on, “Bart was a man of great style. He only dressed in the finest garments and owned the most beautiful women and men. He built the roads leading from Ba'th to the city and the inland plantations to support trade from all over the land. Some of those old roads are still in use today. He was a lover of feast, wine and music, so he partied wild and held many orgies. He had a weakness for great beauty, too. If you follow me, I'll show you the bathhouse he built for his many mistresses and beaus or the lords of other realms who came to visit... In there...”

Jack guided his group to the half relict leftovers of the bath. The roof was gone and the back wall halfway down, but three walls were still mostly intact and the entrance was flanked by two artfully carved columns. Once inside Jack cautioned everyone to be careful not to fall into the pools.

The pools had been excavated. The bottoms, mosaics of tiny green and blue stones displaying dolphins playing in waves, were pretty well preserved. The walls used to be blue glazed tiles, but not much of them had survived time and elements. Most of the pools' walls had turned into rubble and buried the bottom mosaic under them before the archaeologists had started to dig here.

Jack trotted out more known facts about the baths. The date of when it had been excavated, how long it had taken to unearth the pools and reconstruct the mosaics.

He ended his explanations with, “Lord Bart had three kinds of pools. A cold pool, a tepid pool and a hot pool. The hot pool was heated by a furnace and a hypocaust system. The water came over huge aqueducts from the inland. The aqueducts were destroyed in the legendary rebellion of the slaves, led by a young scholar who freed the love of his life from the hands of Lord Bart.”

One of the young men raised a hand. He had a yellow Mohawk, the rest of his sun-tanned head was shorn. He was a rather good looking fella despite the weird hairstyle. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Ah, excuse me, but I recall the god of this realm was Ra?”

Jack winced, but only on the inside, and replied, “Yesss, of course! Ra-Bart. He had many names. Ra-Bart, Ba'al, Burns, Skywalker... he was known under all those names.”

“Skywalker is a beautiful name for a god. Could he walk in the skies?” one of the batik wrapped women asked with interest.

“He had a ship that would carry him into the sky and beyond the stars,” Jack confirmed. “If you'll follow me to the theater I will tell you about the gladiators.”

He shepherded his group out of the bath and over to the theater. The sandy, oval shaped arena lay deserted. No small gladiators around today. Jack waited patiently until folks were done taking pictures and scuttling up and down the seating tiers.

When everyone had gathered around him again in the arena, Jack spun a gladiator's tale, touching on chariot races and executions as well as the many weddings of Lord Bart. Or Ra-Bart, or whatever.

“Gladiators were hand picked by Ra-Bart from among his strongest and healthiest slaves. From his Army of Sinners. You probably heard of them at school? They still teach the legend of the Sinners in the city? I know they do it here. The Sinners were huge, bulky, bald men with black skin and golden tattoos on their foreheads...”

“I never heard that they were all black and bald?” Mohawk asked, raising a well plucked eyebrow.

Jack was beginning to dislike that guy. “Ra-Bart's warriors were. I don't know about the other gods' armies,” he replied smoothly. “They could snap your neck with a flick of their hand and they all carried swords and long fire spitting stick weapons.”

“Is it true,” another of the young men asked, “that there are still living descendants from the Army of Sinners? That they live far away in a monastery?”

“I have heard that, too,” Batik-wrapped number two threw in excitedly. “They are the last of the armies of all the gods residing on our world in the ancient times.”

Well, then... Jack was used to thinking on his feet. He quickly recalled what he knew about the Army of Sinners legend. “It's written on the monolith – which we're going to see later – that the Army of Sinners were men who had failed to serve their gods in a former life. As punishment for their failure they were reborn with infant snakes implanted in their guts as a manifestation of their sins. The snakes gave the warriors great strength and perfect health. To that end they were chosen to be gladiators in times of peace and soldiers in times of war, to defend their gods' realms. Once the snakes matured they would leave the warrior's body through an opening in their bellies...”

The women all made noises of disgust here, causing Jack to grin.

“Oh, yes, it was an ugly thing to witness. The snakes were slimy, wrinkled, icky things with fangs, small bat wings and glowing red eyes. If the warrior had been faithful to his god and done heroic acts, he would be rewarded by getting a new infant snake to live on and fight another day. Otherwise the warrior died.”

“What happened to the matured snake?” Batik-wrapped number two asked in a tiny hushed voice. Easy to impress, that one.

“They were eaten by the gods.” Jack paused for emphasis before he added. “They were eaten alive. The gods just bit their heads off.”

More ewww from the audience.

“Or they were allowed to choose a host. If the snakes chose a host, they entered the chosen one through the neck, wrapped around their brains and took over control. Nothing of the host's mind survived and the snake was considered a god.”

“Are you saying the ancient gods were people possessed by snakes?” Yellow Mohawk looked slightly disgusted. “What we learned at school only covers the part about the snake growing in the warriors' belly until it matures and the warriors were allowed to release their sins and die.”

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying,” Jack said patiently. “Anyway... the Head Honcho of Ra-Bart's army helped our young scholar to free his love and lead the rebellion of slaves. He was a feared and cunning warrior named Homer. His apprentice, Bra'tac, and our young scholar – a citizen of ancient Ba'th – stood up against Ra-Bart, fighting the fight of the good against evil. Love against power.”

“Ohhh,” Batik number one sighed. “How heroic!”

Yellow Mohawk frowned. “I thought Bra'tac was the head man of the army and Homer was his apprentice. I recall that Master Bra'tac was a formidable warrior who had a vision that people of Ba'th should be free from slavery and torture. And that he invented Duff – the ancient term for what we know as beer.”

Jack eyed him wearily. “You been here before, son?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did this tour just a couple of weeks ago when I first arrived.”

“And why, if you already did the tour, are you doing it again?” Jack asked, carefully keeping the annoyance out of his voice. A couple of weeks ago? Crap. He couldn't remember now how he'd told the story then. He remembered, vaguely, something about Bra'tac and beer.

“Because my friends arrived at a later point and wanted to do the tour now.”

“Well... you probably got it wrong the first time around,” Jack said brightly, clapping the guy's broad back. “It was Homer who invented Duff, not Bra'tac.”

The frown deepened. “Nooo, I don't think so.”

“Let's not dwell.” Jack quickly moved to the center of his small group. “Once the slaves had risen against their master, the Army of Sinners journeyed to all the realms of Ra-Bart's underlings – the minor gods - to gather followers. At the end of their journey they found Oz, a land far far away. There they stayed...”

“Kheb,” Yellow Mohawk said. “You claimed the far far away land they found was Kheb.”

“Kheb, a small part of Oz. Let's not get stuck on details here.”

“I do wonder where you have that knowledge from. The name of the land is not in the known history books or on any map I have seen.”

 _Geeks_ , Jack thought nettled. _They know everything and keep shoving it into your face. And they won't shut up. Ever._ “I have my sources. Anyway, they stayed at Kheb and built a monastery for their own.”

When Mohawk-geek didn't have any objections to that, Jack went on. “The former warriors made sure none of the snakes would ever possess people again. They locked themselves away and whenever one of the snakes matured it was killed and the warrior died with it. Now, here's the creepy part.” Jack lowered his voice dramatically, “The legend says that whenever a male descendant of a Sinner is born they have a snake growing in their bellies. To this day those children are sent to live in the monastery until their snake has matured. It is kept a secret inside the family and no one ever talks about it. So no one knows how many Sinners have been born over the centuries.”

“I heard they are still telling the tale of the Sinners to naughty children in the rural areas,” one of Mohawk's friends said with a little laugh. “That a snake will grow in your belly if you don't behave.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack said darkly. “People claim they don't believe in those old myths anymore, but it still serves to keep our bratlings in line.” Mania told him she had nightmares about the snakes. He didn't like scaring little kids like that.

“I heard enough of that,” the female unit of the couple said with a grimace. “We'd like to hear about the scholar and his love.” Murmurs of agreement were uttered as Jack led the group out of the theater and across the paved boulevard.

The boulevard was lined by partially destroyed columns, decorated with ornately carved symbols and patterns; kneeling slaves, warriors forever frozen in a battle to the death, the Lord and Master, his face covered by a mask. All memories of a god long gone, whether his name had been Ra or Bart or Urgo. Hewn ashlars of sand-yellow stones paved the boulevard, sprinkled with quartz glittering in the bright stripes of afternoon sunlight. Grass and yellow wild flowers grew where parts of the pavement was missing

At the end of the boulevard the huge, black monolith loomed over everything, its smooth walls covered in golden glyphs. At its bottom several stone tablets rested, showing chicken scratchings of the same kind. The tablets had been unearthed near the baths in a building that was too decayed to be of any attraction to visitors. Lumps of rock overgrown by weed and grass. Nothing left but two walls and the entrance to a caved in tunnel.

Jack led his group down the boulevard as he continued his story. “Once a young ambitious scholar lived in Ba'th...”

“What was his name?” Batik number two asked.

Jack eyed Yellow Mohawk. “You remember his name?”

“No, I do not recall you giving us his name.”

“Mmmmh, but his name was Danyel. He was a brilliant, if somewhat flaky, guy with long blond hair and bright blue eyes. Considered a beautiful man of his time. The love of his life, Masala, was a women of elven grace. Her hair was one of her most eye-catching features. Enthroned on her head like a beehive it was of the most dazzling blue...”

“Blue?” Mohawk raised both eyebrows for a change and crossed his arms over his chest, showing off his well-toned biceps. He was wearing a sleeveless, tight t-shirt.

“Yes, dyed, of course. Ra-Bart fell in love with that hair and her elfin stature, the porcelain skin and her overall loveliness. One night he swept her away from her home in Ba'th. He beamed her to his space ship, the Enterprise, and took her to a far away world called Kansas. There he kept her hostage, guarded by the Klingons, a race of ugly beasts. Danyel, however, was heartbroken upon the kidnapping of his wife and he saddled his horse Toto and rode up here – to face Ra-Bart.”

“But the Lord wasn't here. He was in Kansas with Masala,” Batik number one said

“Yes! A gold star for you, Miss. And, so, Danyel was taken prisoner by Bra'tac, the apprentice, and brought in front of Ra-Bart's spokesman and Head of the Army of Sinners, Homer. Homer and Bra'tac had long waited for a way to get rid of Ra-Bart. Danyel, smart and brave as he was, convinced them to start an uprising. He led them to the chaapa'ai a gate to the stars, that would take them to Kansas and give them a surprise effect in an attack. Homer and Bra'tac talked to the warriors and slaves while Danyel tried to figure out how to use the chaapa'ai. It only took him two days to crack the code that would open it.”

Jack stopped at the foot of the monolith and waved a hand at the glyphs. “All that is written down here. The channel that opened via the gate was of flowing water. Danyel told Homer and Bra'tac not to fear it; that the water would carry them to Kansas. Homer and Bra'tac assembled the Army of Sinners and together they moved through and took Ra-Bart by surprise. They blew him to netu and freed Masala, who was returned to Danyel.” As an afterthought he added. “There was a feast, of course, and Homer let the Duff flow freely. Danyel and Masala were celebrated and treated like king and queen form there on.”

“Are there traces of this... chaapa'ai somewhere?” Mohawk asked.

“Nope. They didn't find a piece of it. It's said the chaapa'ai was buried after the rebellion, to keep other gods from attacking from space. But it's never been found. Soon other realms heard of the uprising and slaves all over the world killed their gods to gain their freedom. But Ba'th was the first free town on this world,” Jack ended his tale, giving Mohawk a daring look.

“I think you string this story together differently every time you tell it,” Mohawk said, frown firmly in place on the handsome clean-shaven face. “I doubt you can read the glyphs, nor do you have real knowledge of the ruin's true origin.”

Jack sighed inwardly. He guessed it had to come to this one day. But so far he'd been lucky enough. “Look, this is how the story goes. Take it or leave it.”

“I think you're a con artist, pretending to be a tour guide.” Mohawk glowered threateningly.

Jack knew he should just hightail it out of here and hope these people wouldn't return next summer. There was just no point in starting a huge argument about this. If he sucked it up and, maybe apologized for mixing up some of his facts, he might get away with only his pride hurt. And if no one filed a complaint about him at 'Ba'th Vacations', he could even keep the job.

But something had apparently highjacked his good sense because instead of backing off, he stepped right up to the plate.

“What about you?” he challenged quietly, making use of the few inches and the not-so-few years he had over the youngster. “Why don'tcha enlighten us. Share your wisdom with us.” Jack gestured invitingly at the monolith. “Be my guest.”

Mohawk bit his lip and knitted his eyebrows. “Well, I can't read any of this, but...”

Jack stared at the guy, at the way his eyebrows had almost taken a V form, how his lower lip was pulled in. Just looking at him fueled his annoyance.

“But – what? You got a degree in archeology, kid? History, maybe? Linguistics, too?”

“No, but...”

“But you know better than me, right? It's always the same damn thing with you,...” He trailed off, not sure what he'd been about to say, but also unable to stomp on the irritation with this smart looking know-it-all snot.

“You are the guide. You should know your stuff. I mean, come on... blue hair and elfin features? Kheb in a land called Oz? That's some kind of fairy tale,” Mohawk pointed out. And he was actually pouting – Jack couldn't help but notice how lush those lips... Jack couldn't believe he was actually _staring_ at those lips.

Meanwhile Mohawk went on, oblivious – of course – to Jack's growing... Jack's growing anger. “There's for example the fact that if your chaapa'ai was buried here, someone would have found it by now. And then, the whole Army of Sinners legend – every kid knows that. But I have never heard of an uprising here in Ba'th or about the snakes taking over humans as host.”

 _Fer cryin' out loud..._ “You have any proof my story is wrong, geek?”

“All I'm saying is; I do read a lot and none of the historical records...”

“So, what, book boy? I live here. I work here. You wanna take over the job?”

“Uh... no, but...”

He felt the insane notion to break the guy's nose and wipe that pout off his face. And he was freaking over the fact some smart ass from the city could evoke such a strong reaction in him. Several strong reactions, actually.

_What the..._

The worst thing was; the geek was right. Which didn't make Jack feel less angry.

Or less... agitated.

“Aw, stop it, Björk. I was entertained. Who cares if it's all true?” one of Mohawk's friends spoke up, giving Jack an uncomfortable look.

“Yeah, let's go and hit the beach bars,” the other pal jumped in and they grabbed Mohawk by the arms and pulled him away and out of Jack's reach. Good for them.

“Get outta here,” Jack snarled, watching with satisfaction as the three of them retreated, casting him worried little glances.

The rest of the group was falling apart fast, heading off in different directions. No one bothered to demand their money back.

Jack stood in the glaring afternoon sun, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Way to go, O'Neill,” he muttered, baffled. Shaking his head he adjusted his cap and walked off to find some shade and a quiet secluded place to take care of that lingering spark of arousal.

*******

Viktor laughed until tears were running down his scruffy face. Slapping Jack's back he bleated, “Blue beehive hair? Where the hell do you get that crap from?”

“It had to come and bite you one day, you know.” Hadis snorted into his beer.

Jack shrugged Viktor's lingering hand off and took a sip from his own beer, a dark, bitter brew from the inland. “Gotta keep folks entertained. Always works like a charm.”

“You were lucky they didn't want their money back. Did you scare them all away or did you talk yourself out of it?” Viktor chuckled. “Enlighten us, Jack – how much of that tale did you make up? We know you couldn't read those glyphs if your life depended on it.”

“I got a great imagination. Usually that's enough,” Jack muttered. “The truth is gonna bore people to death. I'd be without customers like this.” He snapped his fingers.

The 'Lance Fountain', a small pub, was brimming with men and women having their evening drink before going home after a long work day. Inside the air was thick with smoke and the smell of cheap beer and the dish of the day, a cooked-to-death vegetable stew. Jack, Viktor and Hadis had been lucky enough to get their usual table on the small deck by the water. The waves lapped gently against the stones. It was dark, the sky full of twinkling stars and a moon that had just begun to swell again. Across the cove the light house fire painted a strip of yellow on the otherwise black water.

“I thought they gave you a book with all the historical facts.” Hadis stuffed his pipe with that sweet-smelling tobacco most locals smoked.

“Yep. I get my basics from that. Army of the Sinners, some larger-than-life, overdressed, arrogant bastard posing as a god... Creepy, but boring. No rebellion, no drama. They don't even know the god's real name because no one can read those damn glyphs right. They got their data from pictures and some rotten bones.” Jack let a coin wander over the knuckles of his right hand, then caught it and put it on the table for the waiter.

Loud, harsh laughter was coming from inside the pub. The sound of smashing glass caused more laughter, followed by yelling.

“It's a miracle you got away with making up your own stories for so long,” Viktor said.

“That guy was like a dog with a bone,” Jack growled. “If he rats me out to the company I might lose the job.”

Hadis struck a match and lit his pipe. Soon a small band of white smoke curled from it and vanished in the warm night air. After a long pull he said thoughtfully, “Maybe this was a sign, Jack. Maybe it's time to find a real job. One that will enable you to settle down.”

“And do what? Marry your daughter?” Jack downed more of his beer. He was in the mood to get drunk tonight. Mainly to get rid of the faint but persistent feeling of unease the encounter with Mohawk had kindled.

Hadis smiled and twirled the ends of his handlebar mustache. “I would not advise that. But have you never felt the urge to do something with your life? Become wealthy so you could live comfortably? And, yes, marry, too.”

Viktor, who claimed his wife and children were the bane of his existence, agreed. “You're not gettin' any younger, Jack. You can't live from hand to mouth forever. You'll end up like the old men, sitting on the beach being drunk, with no place to go.”

Eying his almost empty bottle, Jack said, “I have what I need. It's enough to get by.”

“For now,” Hadis cautioned.

“Oh, stop it, will ya? I'm not gonna get married just to have kids to support me when I'm old.” He shot Viktor a challenging glare, knowing that while his friend loved his family, his real preferences lay elsewhere.

Viktor yelled for more beer, then turned back to Jack. “Why not? You're good with kids. You like them, too.”

“Yeah, as long as I don't have to feed and raise them.” Jack reconsidered his plan for getting drunk. Maybe calling it an early night was the better option. At least if the conversation continued to go this way.

The waiter, a lanky blond guy with a small goatee, put new bottles on the table and took their coins. He was all smiles and charming, asking them if they wanted some stew or fish and walked away with a wink and a put upon pout when they declined.

Jack scowled into his beer. When had pouting become a trendy thing these days?

“Here, look at that boy. He's probably working up to having his own pub some day,” Hadis said, pointing at the retreating back. “He's ambitious. You are lazy.”

They clinked their bottles together. “I like being lazy. And I'm already old,” Jack said. “You're wasting your breath, buddy.”

“You should marry that mule of yours then,” Viktor laughed. “You make the perfect couple.”

Jack shooed off the moths flying around the candle on the table. “Oh, yeah. Thor is the love of my life, that's for sure.”

Viktor answered that with a pretty apt eeyore. Jack threw a coaster at him. “That's a donkey, you nut.”

They laughed and Jack pulled a bag of dice from his pants. “Who's in for a game?”

“Not me. I finish this and then I better get home,” Viktor said. “Still too much to do before we leave for my parents. Wife's getting' antsy and moody if I don't have the wagon ready and loaded soon.”

“Me neither. Have to be up early,” Hadis said.

“Now, see, that's the reason I'm not married,” Jack said with feeling.

“There's a price to pay,” Viktor agreed a bit wistfully.

Jack stuffed the dice back into his pocket and they finished their beer in companionable silence.

*******

Daniel slipped into the dark courtyard. Everything here was gray stone and gloominess. The glassless windows were nothing but black holes. The forest, windswept gnarly trees, surrounding the monastery, was a bleak and unyielding place on any day. It felt threatening and dangerous by night.

 _The perfect landscape for horror movies_ , Daniel thought with disdain. _Perfectly cast for a bunch of Jaffa with a death wish._

Who had orchestrated the Army of Sinner legend? And why? He had wondered about this again and again, but there was no answer forthcoming. It couldn't have been the Goa'uld who used to claim this planet as their own. The Sinner tale had to be created after they'd left.

Thinking about the Goa'uld brought up other questions, however. Why build a civilization in this way? By taking people from all over the galaxy, erasing their memories and giving them new ones? For what purpose? Why not just claim the planet and enslave everyone who lived here or came through the gate. Why not just rule and work people to death? Why had they gone through all the trouble of erasing people's memories to make them think they were born here and lived a more or less happy life?

Trouble shooting, Daniel assumed. If people who came through the gate thought they'd always lived here and worshiped their god and goddess, there was less trouble and less cause for an uprising.

But once the Goa'uld left someone must have changed the programming of the memory stamp because no one really seemed to know much about the former gods. But why had the memory stamps been re-programmed? Why not just stop using them in the first place?

This wasn't anything like what had happened on P3R-118. No one had been forced to slave labor in underground mines to sustain a society living on the surface.

With the Goa'uld gone, the people here were free to do whatever they wanted – within their financial and cultural possibilities. They were equipped with a certain back story and means to make their living – and from there they could evolve, go anywhere and be anyone they wanted to be. At least in theory.

Of course people here, as almost anywhere else, were bound to circumstances and the choices they made. There were rich and poor people, lazy ones and those who worked hard to rise in society even though they came from one of the 'lowly' families. Some had probably been stamped and supported to be wealthy and had lost it all in gambling or due to other circumstances. Ba'th had all kind of people, just like on most other worlds. And it had been a very long time since people had come from other planets and were slotted into society before Ba'th had – unfortunately – been on SG-1's mission list.

None of the kids Daniel had seen in Ba'th were memory-stamped. Neither were their parents. They were the grandchildren or even great-grandchildren of memory-stamped people. They were born on this planet and thus their lives were 'real'.

But however the people lived here - they weren't forced to serve any false gods and their real historical knowledge of the Goa'uld who had once resided here was fragmentary at best.

Daniel had pieced together parts of Ba'th's history from reading what was written on the monolith. But this world's former false goddess and her offspring were long dead and there was no apparent reason to keep up the memory stamping.

His thoughts returned to The Army of the Sinners... a way to keep Jaffa separated from the rest of the population? To make sure no symbiote would ever find a new host or take over their Jaffa after maturing? But why continue to bring Jaffa to this planet after the Goa'uld had left - if they were not wanted here? Mawaybe whoever was in charge of the gate and its incoming travelers wasn't allowed to send anyone back or kill people. So, if Jaffa came through, they had to be send here.

Daniel had attempted to discuss all this with Oma, but his mentor hadn't been very helpful. She kept insisting on leaving this world and moving on. That there was nothing they could do to help.

Daniel watched as the tall, hooded figure entered the meditation cell. In the light from the many torches and candles on the walls and floor, Teal'c's long hooded robe had the color of dried blood and the golden Goa'uld on the back gleamed as though it was a living being and not just embroidery.

Teal'c went down on one knee and bowed his head. The traditional beginning of yet another round of extended kel'no'reem as Daniel had learned from his earlier visits.

Two monks had entered the room behind him. They closed the double wing door quickly and silently took position to Teal'c's left and right. Their robes were a muddy brown and without any attire. Both of them carried pain sticks, but Daniel had never seen them being used. Teal'c went through his daily routine stoically and mostly silent.

“Tal Shakka Mel,” Teal'c's deep, steady voice was loud in the small chamber.

_I die free._

Daniel had heard those words before. Not just here, but in battle against the Goa'uld. Teal'c had fought for that freedom. For himself, for his son, for his people. Teal'c stood for that freedom. He and Bra'tac, side by side, were the hope of all Jaffa to overcome the false gods.

Now, Tal Shakka Mel had taken on a very different meaning.

Daniel could make the candles flicker and die. He could let the wind blow where there shouldn't be wind. The Others wouldn't interfere at minimal interactions like that because it didn't make a difference for anyone. But he had a feeling that even if he could hover in front of Teal'c and make himself visible. If he became a column of light, a vortex of energy or a billowing, twirling blur of glow... even if he'd crossed his boundaries by showing himself to some degree...

Teal'c would not see.

All he focused on was the prim'ta. It had become the whole purpose of his existence.

Teal'c stood again, his head bowed.

The monks raised their hands to the ceiling, their voices were a dark, gravely chant. “Kree! Hear the sinner! His forefathers' sins will be washed from his calak! Tal Shakka Mel! The prim'ta will take all his sins from him and the gods will be satisfied! Avidan!”

_The gods are just._

'No. The gods are false,' Daniel whispered, unheard.

Under the continuous repetition of the monks' sermon, Teal'c shucked his robe and it fell to the ground behind him. His upper body was bare and Daniel noticed the changes it had undergone. Teal'c's shoulders were still broad, his biceps still strong – for an average male. But Teal'c had always been huge, impressive muscles rippling under his skin. His strength was one of his outstanding traits and he had honed his body, had worked hard to keep it smooth and agile.

He had lost some of that honed strength and a lot of weight. His skin was of a gray complexion, his movements lacked their usual sharpness. Teal'c placed large, slightly trembling, hands over the opening slits in his pouch. “Tal Shakka Mel,” he whispered fiercely.

“Hear our brother's sins and take them into you so the gods may forgive him,” the monks murmured.

Junior did not show itself, but the pouch quivered and the slits opened slightly before closing again.

'Ya duru arik kek onac,' Daniel said, unheard by his friend. _I honor he who will kill his god. '_ Remember that, Teal'c. Tok'Goa'uld... against the Goa'uld. You fight them, not worship them.'

But he had tried and tried and tried...

He moved behind the Jaffa, attempting to send him images. The Earth symbol. The stargate. Bra'tac's bearded face, SG-1 going through the gate together. Rya'c.

It was like running into a brick wall.

Was it the memory stamp that kept Teal'c from sensing Daniel's presence? Shouldn't he know someone was here with him, in that deep state of kel'no'reem? After all, the meditation was supposed to open the mind.

But, of course, in this room, on this world, it only served to open ones mind to become in sync with the symbiote. And the symbiote basked in the guilt and the worshiping. It became agitated and coiled restlessly in its pouch, eager to grow and mature. Daniel could feel junior's satisfaction upon Teal'c's submission.

Daniel guessed that what happened here was similar to when Shau'nac had communicated with her prim'ta. Only Teal'c didn't try to guide his prim'tas to become a good creatures and turn against their own parasitic race. He nurtured the prim'ta's ego.

“The sins of his forefathers and his own were etched into his calak by the god's hand. They will now move on to the prim'ta. The gods will forgive our brother and he will die free of any sins and reborn a good servant,” the monks preached, their voices in perfect unison.

Slowly, Teal'c sat down lotus-style.

“Tal Shakka Mel,” he said again and those were the last words he'd speak for the next couple of hours.

Daniel settled in front of him, looking into that impassive, calm face.

'I wish you'd start questioning this, Teal'c. Remember Apophis; how he brainwashed you? This isn't _you_. You have to fight it. I know you have it in you. Remember how you stood up to Apophis. To Cronus who killed your father. To Tanith who killed Shau'nac. Do not let false memories dictate your life and death!'

It was a one-sided conversation.

Time was running out. Junior would mature when fall was here. Teal'c would die a pointless, horrific death by the hand of his 'brothers', the monks.

And Daniel would not let this happen.

He gently brushed by some of the candles, causing them to flicker, as he left.

'I'll be back,' he promised as he soared through the vaulted roof and left the ugly building behind.

He assumed Oma was hiding in a cluster of stars, floating in space and thinking up new pearls of wisdom to impress him with. To his surprise, though, when he'd finally tracked her down, she was drifting around the ruins at Ba'th somewhat restlessly.

'You cannot stay here,' she greeted him. 'The Others are beginning to grow impatient.'

Daniel slid into the theater, facing her in the arena. 'Why? Is there some place I need to be?'

'Embrace the gift of enlightenment. Show yourself worthy of receiving such a privilege.'

'I do. I am. You know I'm very grateful for what you did.'

'I do not want your gratefulness. You desired this. It was your decision to take this path. But when one chooses a path they have to actually walk it.'

'I am. I'm learning every day what it's like to travel on this road. Right now I'm not sure this is what I've signed up for, though.' He had to display himself in his human form. He needed to flail his hands and pace the arena to underline his words, even if it was only an illusion. 'These are my friends we are talking about, Oma. They don’t stop being my friends just because I can no longer be with them. I won't stop caring for them. If I did, that would make me no better than...' He trailed off, realizing what he was about to say. Then he decided to say it anyway. 'It would make me no better than The Others. I can't be this indifferent. I wanted to ascend because I saw a possibility to make a difference. To accomplish much more than I ever could before. And you helped me to ascend because you saw human potential in me.'

Oma morphed into the woman Daniel had seen in the gateroom before he'd ascended. 'Great potential, indeed. The potential to grow and evolve. You cannot reach that goal if you anchor yourself here.'

'But how am I supposed to make a difference? How am I supposed to accomplish anything if I'm not allowed to interfere at all?' He knew the answer to that one, but it was still something he struggled with.

'If you interfere by using your given powers, would it not make you pose as a god? Would it not be too tempting to shape the universe to your liking? Is it not that what the Goa'uld do?'

His own words thrown back at him. The very same essence he had tried to make Jack understand.

“ _The hardest part of being who or what I am is having the power to change the things I want to change and knowing that I can't. Even when I'm certain, even when it's…absolutely clear to me, even when it affects the people I care about. Because for all I can do, I'm no more qualified to play God than the Goa'uld are.”_

But that wasn't what he intended to do now.

'I can descend. Orlin did it. He... he descended back to physical form to be with Sam. It's possible. Teach me, how.'

'I will not do such foolishness.'

'Oma...'

'You cannot help them.' Her light intensified for a moment; a sign of impatience or even annoyance?

'Not like this, no. Help me!'

But she did not take the bait. She merely disappeared.

However, Daniel wasn't willing to back off.

He followed suit and flung himself at her with all his will. They twirled together, a tug o' war of elements, as they clashed and exploded into blinding brightness.

*******

Jack patted Thor's thick neck and curled his fingers into the scraggly mane, holding the reins loosely in the other hand. He trusted the mule to find his way in the dark. He had wanted to sleep at Viktor's booth, but there were fireworks and parties all over the tourist areas – that happened a lot towards the end of the season – and Jack didn't feel like mingling or even trying to sleep in that kind of hustle bustle. He'd gone home with Hadis and taken Thor from the stable.

The mule hadn't been exactly happy to see Jack, but after a bit of shoving and pushing on both sides, Thor had been coaxed into leaving his stall and hay to serve Jack's purpose for a change; carrying him out to the ruins where it was quiet and peaceful.

He was tired and – he couldn't believe it – still a bit cranky. Not so much about Mohawk's whining... what was his name again? Borg? Björk? What kind of a name was that anyway. The whining had been annoying, but Jack's own reaction to it had been a bit creepy.

“Oh, knock it off,” he growled at himself. “It was just some guy.”

And Jack had taken notice of the guy's assets. After all, he was a guy who occasionally checked out other guys. That, and it had been a while since he'd gotten laid one way or the other. Except, he wasn't a hormone-driven teenager and he usually didn't get hard from being mad at someone.

Which was yet another thing that bugged him. He'd never been the most patient or socializing man. And yes, he could get pretty annoyed with people for little reason at times. But he rarely felt the need to beat someone up or let his anger bubble to the surface like that.

He wasn't a pushover, but he didn't walk around intimidating people if they glanced at him the wrong way or questioned his – admittedly less then outstanding – qualities as a historian. But he'd gotten the vibes from that guy and his buddies today. They'd felt threatened and they'd retreated because they thought he was going to break Mohawk guy's nose.

Which was what he'd wanted to do. That, or shove him against that damn monolith and shut him up by sucking out his tonsils.

“He's not even my fucking type,” he grouched. Not that he had a 'type' in the first place. He knew Viktor would jump at the opportunity if Jack so much as winked at him, but that wasn't going to happen. The man was married, for heaven's sake. And not exactly what Jack would call overly hot. He had his right hand. They were good buddies. No arguments and no hurt feelings.

Naturally, Thor didn't reply to that. He just kept trudging on. They reached the boulevard and passed between two of the columns. The theater lay ahead of them in the moonlight.

When Jack slept in the ruins he had a place in the decayed remains of the building where the stone tablets had been found. There wasn't much left of the original house, but in a corner, where two walls met, was an opening that led to a tunnel embedded into an earth rampart. The tunnel, originally a passageway to the arena, was caved in. What was left of it was a chamber big enough for a man to store some of his belongings and stretch out to sleep. It offered shelter from rain and heat and the entrance was overgrown by ivy, which made it hard to locate if you didn't know where to look.

Jack dismounted and took off the bridle. Knowing Thor wasn't going to move his lazy butt any further than he absolutely had to, he didn't hobble him. He gave said butt a friendly smack and sent him off to graze. He'd just whistle for him in the morning.

Thor ambled away a couple of feet and decided he found a suitable place to eat. Jack shouldered the bridle and was about to enter his little hidey hole when something caught his eye and he stopped to gaze at the sky.

A bright light pulsed, then exploded and raced across the distant sky.

“Whoa,” Jack whispered, his troubles forgotten. “Make a wish, Thor.”

Thor jerked his head up and let out a high pitched sound between a whinny and an eeyore before he dashed off with flying ears and tail.

“Hey!” Jack called after him. “It's just a falling star!”

He watched a moment longer as the meteor shower continued like diamonds falling from the heavens.

_Fire rains._

_Tal'pak'rye._

_Falling Star._

Jack rubbed his eyes. “This was a damn long day,” he muttered.

He considered, briefly, following Thor to make sure he was okay, but it was dark and the mule would be back in the morning. For Jack it was time to hit the hay.

*******

'You forced me away from Jonas! Why?'

Oma whirled around him, working on freeing herself of his hold. 'You are foolish to think The Others would not have noticed your action!'

'Maybe I don't care anymore what The Others think! YOU don't care what they think when you help people to ascend.'

Suddenly she grew very still. 'There will be a time when I am going to pay dearly for my actions. And that time will come soon I am afraid.'

'How?'

'You do not need to know. But know this; you do not want to be punished by The Others.' She showed him her face and he saw sadness and grief in her eyes. And guilt.

'I don't...' He didn't understand. How was Oma punished for helping lower beings to ascend? He hadn't noticed her being in any way restricted or under close watch. It was obvious she wasn’t going to share this with him, though. Daniel had to accept that, for now. He still kept his hold on her. 'Yet, you keep doing it. You keep helping lower beings to ascend even though you know you will be punished. Why?'

She didn't try to break free anymore and gave him a sad smile. 'Because someone has to do it.'

'Why?' He wouldn't let this go unanswered.

'One candle burns brightly for a time. But it takes many candles to light up a room.'

'And a lot of melted wax to make more candles,' Daniel muttered and sighed. 'You want to bring fresh minds in. New ideas.'

'Evolution. Where there is no movement there is stagnation.'

'And, so... that justifies what you are doing. But you won't acknowledge my need to help my friends as being important enough.'

'The Others will not allow you to interfere. They will destroy you.' Oma said.

Daniel tightened his mental hold on her, but he felt his power to keep her immobile dwindling down. 'I'm not going to interfere. I'm descending. I can do that, right? It's possible to return to human form.'

'The Others will not let you return once you have left.'

He hesitated, the full meaning of what he was about to do sinking in. He didn't want to return to the lower planes, but he wasn't keen on being squashed by the hand of The Others either. Neither did he want to be exiled to a meaningless life of loneliness on some backwater planet. That was what had happened to Orlin because he had broken the rules.

 _And_ , Daniel thought grimly, _The Others destroyed every single life on that planet as further punishment. Maybe Oma has suffered something similar in the past. Others having to pay for her sins. Is that what she's trying to protect me from? And the people of this world?_

He didn't want innocent people being harmed because of his actions. And yes, he could see the reasoning in the non-interference rule in general. But he couldn't allow Teal'c to die and Jack and Sam to spend a fake life on this world.

She seemed to sense his decision.

'Daniel, you will risk all you have achieved in a blink of an eye. Do not look upon your friends' fate as a tragedy. Do look upon it as what it was intended to be. A new start, a second chance. Much as you have been given, just in a different way. Teal'c will be enlightened. He will soon be among us.'

'I'll find Orlin. He can show me.' Daniel felt his hold on Oma slip. He was still relatively new to this state of being and she had the longer breath.

'Orlin is not in our reach. He is occupied elsewhere,' she said, pinched. 'The universe is vast even in our current state. You will spend too much time looking for him.'

With a twist and a tug she freed herself of him.

But she didn't disappear again.

'Please,' Daniel said. It wasn't easy to actually plead with her. Sometimes she was like an unyielding mother. But he was determined to make her listen to him. Just this once. 'They can't stay here. Teal'c can't stay here. He needs to remember who he is. He needs a new symbiote. He has to go back to Earth. Jack and Sam, too.'

'Why do you believe that so strongly?' Now her voice was softening.

Daniel shook his head. 'They are my friends. And they are needed. At the SGC, on Earth.'

'But they live and thrive here.'

'It's a fake.'

'Why does it matter if the mind is happy?'

They were running around in circles. Daniel wanted to kick a meteor or throw some lightning bolts around. 'Descend me,' he demanded harshly.

'For what purpose. They will not remember even if you tell them.'

Daniel glanced around the arena as if he was seeing it for the first time. These ruins. Jack kept coming back here, being the tour guide, watching the kids play ball... Why? Jack and myths or legends didn't mix. If anything they bored him to tears or gave him something to snark and scoff about.

_Rumors, lies, fairy tales..._

Okay, Daniel wasn't going to go there. What had come to be known as the infamous 'plant-boy-dance' between Jack and him was hardly something he remembered fondly.

But truth was - Jack didn't believe in, nor had a love for, chicken scratchings and rocks.

And yet...

'Maybe you're wrong about them not remembering anything,' Daniel said slowly, trying not to lose his train of thought. 'You can't erase half a lifespan of memories just to take away pain or grief. The memories have to be somewhere, hidden. I don't know how exactly this stamp works. Maybe it's like hypnosis. But they know their names, they still have their personality traits. And they remember things subconsciously.'

'Would you not remove a sore tooth to take away the pain?'

'Our failures define us,' Daniel said fiercely. 'They define us as much as our success. We grow through them. Grief, happiness, anger,' he paused for a moment, then added, 'love. All that makes us who we are. And just because their memories were taken from them doesn't mean they wouldn't prefer their old lives over these new ones.'

'You chose to take the path of enlightenment to escape the failures you claimed you had, did you not?'

'No. I chose this because I wanted to improve. I chose this because my failures made me realize I wasn't good enough, in any way, as the person I was. But I didn't erase who I am. I want to expand.'

Oma didn't respond.

'There has to be a way to override these memory stamps.'

Again, no reply was forthcoming.

Daniel spiraled away, faster and faster, higher and higher, until he'd left the atmosphere behind and entered the silent, vast, darkness of space. He stretched his consciousness, searching for Orlin, calling out for him in silent waves of thought.

Until he was once again caught and restricted, dragged through space in Oma's clutches like an insect in a Venus flytrap. This time he fought. He zinged and lashed out, tossed around lightning. Jack would have been so proud.

But the flytrap tightened around his astral body, locking him inside as he was carried away.

Finally, Daniel had no recollection of how much time had passed or if any time had passed at all, they came to a halt and she released him.

They were back in the arena. It was still night.

'I will not allow you to give The Others reason to destroy you.' He could feel anxiety radiating off her, something he had never sensed in her before. 'They have already taken offense over your actions regarding the one you call Jack.'

'Then help me!' He was weak. Fighting her had drained him. 'Help me to help them.'

'Very well. Let me hold you,' she whispered.

She reached out for him once more, gently this time, and he accepted her energy joining with his. As their spirits touched she sent him a silent message. It wasn't that they had had verbal conversations before, but this was still different. While Daniel usually heard her female voice loud and clear in his mind just as if they were really 'talking' to one another, her thoughts were now more dimmed, less prominent. And bare of any voice type.

_'We have to be quick. And once it is done that part of you will be on its own. I cannot meddle in this any further. And neither can you. '_

_'That... part of me?'_ He tried to reply as hushed as possible.

 _'I will shield us from The Others to send a small part of you back to the lower planes as you wish. The Others will not notice the difference in you from where they are observing us.'_ She flickered, then stabilized again. _'Perhaps, at the end of this journey, you will have answers that help you to see your friends' choices differently.'_

_'Ye-ah, I seriously doubt that. What exactly...'_

_'You will have the opportunity to talk to your friends, to let them know. The part of you that contacts your friends will have to take this journey alone. You can merely watch things unfold, not interfere. It will be interesting to see what you may learn from this. Maybe because you are still so young you need to make your own choices to mold your spirit. I will see you again once you have accomplished this task in whatever way it may develop.'_

_'Oma...'_

He was silenced as a fervid jolt hit him full force and threw him backwards against the stone tiers. A rain of sparks erupted as another zap shot through him and he was catapulted upwards into the starry sky. Daniel wanted to scream in agony, but couldn't.

There was a distinct sensation of falling into pieces; as if some part of him trickled away. He tried to hold himself together, but a small, steady stream of particles soared downwards like fireflies or raindrops made of light, sprinkling the dark arena before they were pulled together like magnets and melted into each other.

He was left to drift, hurting from the sheer terror of being ripped apart. He reached out, blindly, for Oma. He needed something to hold on to, needed something to put him back together.

Oma was gone.

Daniel spun aimlessly through space, plunged into darkness of exhaustion.

He was all alone.

 

End of Part I


End file.
